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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24387415">Fade to Hell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisuwink/pseuds/Alisuwink'>Alisuwink</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Universe, Dark, Fanart, Hell, Humor, M/M, Madness, Season/Series 05, Slow Burn, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Tortured Dean Winchester, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:28:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>38,078</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24387415</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisuwink/pseuds/Alisuwink</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It didn’t seem to be enough with Lucifer wandering free and the Apocalypse up our asses. Of course not! Now, Sammy’s soul has ended in fucking Hell, and I have no choice but to go down to that fucking hole with Castiel. When we rescue Sam, he is going to be buying me beers for the rest of his damn life.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            A translation of

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/20311765">Fade to Hell</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisuwink/pseuds/Alisuwink">Alisuwink</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This work was lovely translated by Silvia García Barrio: silv3394@gmail.com</p><p>This story happens during the first episodes of the fifth season. The titles come from Metallica’s songs. With this, I want to go back to Dean's stay in Hell, and what it would mean to him —not very much seen in the show. Besides, it will be seasoned with an exquisite Destiel. The action begins with the end of an invented hunt, where Sam ends up dying.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <a href="https://alisuwink.tumblr.com/">https://alisuwink.tumblr.com/</a>
</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, a wave of fear runs up my back. They didn’t notice, right? I give a quick look at Sammy, he is panting due to fatigue, and sweat is running down his face. I give back my attention to the creature in front of us, which is going to land the KO punch. I’ve lived this. I have already lived this. In my dreams. They always end the same way. I pounce against this son of a bitch, stabbing his heart with the blessed blade. There is a light beaming from him that blinds me, and an unbearable heat. He disappears under my hands and, when I turn to look for my brother's glance, he is not breathing anymore.</p><p>And that is where I wake up, screaming.</p><p>But, wait—</p><p>Why am I not waking up? The scene is still in front of me. I hear myself panting, kneeling down on the depot's cold floor. And my brother keeps collapsed a few steps away from me.</p><p> </p><p>“Sam— Sammy?”</p><p> </p><p>I hear my voice, it is high pitched at the end of the sentence. I crawl to his side, almost fly, as fast as I can. I shake his shoulders. He doesn't react.</p><p> </p><p>“Sammy!”</p><p> </p><p>I look for the artery in his throat, and check his heart rate.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, nonononono— “ my voice breaks.</p><p> </p><p>I take him by his shoulders and I bring him closer to me, cradling him against my chest.</p><p>He is dead.</p><p>Sammy is dead.</p><p>Fuck, why am I not waking up?</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Dean, can you hear me?” Cass’s torn voice brings me back to reality.</p><p> </p><p>My effort to drown in a glass —rather, many— of scotch drops dead.</p><p> </p><p>“Cass, please—”</p><p> </p><p>But the winged-with-a-stick-up-his-ass stubborn won't give in.</p><p> </p><p>“How long have you been without going out? Are you going to keep locked up, drinking until—?”</p><p> </p><p>“Until the world rots away. Or I. Whatever comes first,” I smile at him cynically and rising up my glass, as if I was cheering. I drain it in one gulp.</p><p> </p><p>Castiel looks up and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. In him, that means desperation.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean, you couldn’t have done anything to avoid—”</p><p> </p><p>“Go to hell.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s where Sam is.”</p><p> </p><p>Unbelievable but true. The bastard says it. He says it like that, with his plane tone and that intense look, with less expression than a dead guinea pig. I stare at him wide-eyed. Should I strike him? Shoot myself? God, what a difficult decision!</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I  hold Dean's gaze for quite a long moment. Why is he angry? I just said what he knows. Everybody knew. From the beginning of the story, it was clear that if Sam died before the enemy, he would end up in Hell. And that's how it was. I haven’t said anything inappropriate. I shake my head to  clear my thoughts. It’s not the time to analyze human behavior.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“Dean</em>—<em>”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“Dean my ass!” He bursts in a fit of anger and bad words. “What did you come here to do, huh? Remind me that I screw it? That my brother has been a fucking week in Hell and I am so shitty that I can't find a freaking way to bring him back? Or were you here to comfort me or something like that? To tell me “come on, life goes on</em>—<em>””</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“Dean</em>—<em>”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“after all, you just had to protect Sam until we finished our job, but you know, two seconds</em>—<em>”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“I have been researching through my contacts, traveling all over the place, from one time to another</em>—<em>”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“two fucking seconds, Cass, just two</em>—<em>”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“and I think we could get Sam out.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“fucking sec</em>—<em>”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>There is a silence.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Wh-What?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“According to some tablets from the ages of Job, which I believed were a myth but they aren’t, we can connect an entrance from this side through a crack in</em>—<em>”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Wh-wh-wh-what? Repeat. Repeat that.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I stare at him for a moment. Repeat from where? His gaze is somewhere between scared and hopeful, with a watery sparkle, and he seems about to break down in tears, although that is really difficult on Dean.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“We can bring Sam back.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>A light shins in his pupils, he runs his hand over his mouth and slowly sits down on a chair, looking nowhere. He leans his forehead on his hands, his elbows on his thighs. He sighs.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There are no tears, but he is crying.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>The plan is fucking madness. Ninety-seven percent of probabilities of failure, three percent of success. Awesome, as in all our important cases, we're juggling with percentages. It seems I’m also a man of numbers.</p><p> </p><p>I look and review all the arrangements for the trip. The table and the floor are full of books, scrolls, papyrus with images on them and other materials. Rather wacky. For example, there is a dragon’s eyelash in a bowl.</p><p> An eyelash.</p><p>Castiel holds that bowl that contains other impossible ingredients with one hand, while mixing them with his other hand’s index finger. We have drawn a small door symbol on the wall, and Cass is reciting a spell that sounds like enochian.</p><p> </p><p>The skin on my breastbone, where my heart is, hurts due to the recent wound I received. Cass did on me the same symbol that was on the wall with an extremely sharpen lion’s claw. There is still a string of fresh blood on my chest that refuses to coagulate. I did the same on him, although the symbol I drew on his skin is rougher then the one I am looking at on the wall. These marks will serve us to find the way back once we have rescued Sam.</p><p> </p><p>When I went down to Hell, it was only my soul who did it, same as Castiel when he took me out of there. It was his essence. But now, we are going to enter with our bodies, too. We need to open the portal, and bring the same symbol on our skin so that our bodies are linked to the physical world.</p><p>Castiel can’t get in Hell without his vessel. He wanted to explain the reason, but I stopped him quickly. Frankly, I don’t care how his angelical metabolism works, or his Grace or whatever it is. I only care about knowing that we have the opportunity of saving Sam. Three percent is more than enough.</p><p> </p><p>A hole opens on the wall, where the symbol was a moment ago. A wave of heat hits me from the darkness, I can hear squeaking throaty noises from far away and my temples start palpitating with a stabbing pain. The smell of sulfur gets to my brain with such a strength that my eyes start crying. I protect myself with my sleeve, but I can't mitigate the itch that is ripping my lungs. The pressure in my head threatens with making my eyes explode.</p><p>Cass lifts a ceramic glass right in front of my nose.</p><p> </p><p>“Now, drink it.”</p><p> </p><p>I obey as fast as I can, making a huge effort to swallow what it contains. For a moment, I think I am going to throw up even the greasy burger from the restaurant we visited ten days ago. Luckily, my stomach is bulletproof, and the sensations of vertigo and sickness go away little by little, same as the heat and the smell from the entrance. Unconsciously, I touch the little glass vial I hung around my neck with a silver chain. It contains the same liquid that I just drank -it lets my physical body bear this hole’s harshness. Not only we go against the clock for Sammy, but also I can’t be down there indefinitely without that super vitamin kick that Cass has prepared for me.</p><p> </p><p>I give him a look that confirms I am ready. He nod with his evergreen focused expression, and goes ahead towards the entrance. I follow him with no hesitation. The darkness on the wall swallows him immediately, and a violent tingle runs through me when I kneel down and cross the entrance.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>My feet land on a volcanic rock path lifting up a little cloud of coal. It’s a narrow hallway with irregular walls and stalactites hanging from the ceiling. The rock around it is black, and a mild purple iridescence emanates from it, giving it a creepy atmosphere to the gloom of the stale air. A crash against my back reminds me that Dean has also entered.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dean.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I wouldn't have brought him unless it was totally necessary. Two  people are needed for this task, every piece of information that I  gathered  agreed on the same thing. I turn around slowly to meet him, and he smirks raising up his eyebrows, as if he had just went into one of those bars where he likes ordering alcohol.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I still don’t know why he does that. If he is not happy, why is he smiling? I have learnt that people fake their emotions to achieve certain objectives, to deceive themselves or others. But Dean doesn’t need to lie to me, and knows perfectly that he is not happy to be in Hell.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>No, I don’t know why he does that. But I am used to seeing his contradictory gestures, so I turn my attention back to the rock around me. I search quickly, there is no time to lose. A few minutes more and our presence will be recognized. We are like a flashlight in a new-moon’s night.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In a crack of the wall at my right, I find what I am looking for. With my fingers, I pull two little fruits off of a weed that is gaining access among the rocks. The fruits are round and the size of blueberries, totally black. I give one to Dean.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Eat.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“Drink, eat</em>—<em> You sure have got into the dominant role, what will be next?”, he lets go a funny snort, possibly because he has just made up a joke. “It’s okay,” he exhales with some despair and takes the fruit from my fingers, “will this really work?”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“It'd better do. Or they will be upon us at any moment and we won't be able to take a step.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>Dean puts the fruit in his mouth and I do the same. We must eat something from the underworld to adapt our essences to the place so we don't stand out</em>—</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Yuck! Fucking disgusting!”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Dean has just spat the berry, which appears crushed on the floor, covered in saliva. He is coughing on it, and his face is deeply contracted.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Don’t chew it, just swallow.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Damn it, say that first!” He replies coughing.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I take another one and give it to him. This time, he has no trouble to eat it. But he doesn’t stop looking at me squinting and clenching his jaw while he eats.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I look back at my front.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We have a long way to go.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Who would have said that I would find this arid esplanade. We have been walking for hours, and I can't see more than stony ground and fog where some ashes are suspended. There is a very harsh, thick, dry, cold wind. We can't hear any sound but the one from distant storms and stifled explosions.</p><p>The hallway we appeared in when we got in ended in a big opening, nine feet higher than the floor in the new area. We went down easily, and I looked at the exit we just left: it was a crack in such a tall and wide wall that you could not tell where the ends were. It got lost among the smoke on the landscape, its immense blocks of unpolished stone made clear their enormous proportions. We have literally opened a crack on the edges of Hell.</p><p> </p><p>“Cass, wait,” he turns around and I puff frowning. He is a couple of steps ahead, “are you sure it is this way? I mean— We have been walking for hours.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“And all the damn place looks the same from every angle. Right, left, ahead, behind— It doesn’t matter.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“But we're good, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>Castiel's expression hasn’t changed a bit. If he was lying, I would know, that guy is terrible. So I can stop thinking that we are walking in circles. Keep calm, Dean. It’s Hell. Hell. You shouldn’t be surprised. You shouldn’t compare it to normal life.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. Is there still long to go?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The night surprises us still in the Desert of Despair. I didn’t want it that way, but we haven’t been fast enough to make it to the end. Or maybe it is larger than I imagined. Speaking of the underworld, it is no surprise that distances blur like an image on the water when you throw a stone on it. Although I didn’t have that confusing sensation when I came down for Dean. Maybe now it is because I am on a physical body.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The night is exactly the same as the day in this place with no sun, but the fog becomes much colder and it gets filled with the sounds of inhuman creatures. Like a puddle when nocturnal animals start waking up. Dean turns on his heels several times, careful and wary, his breath is visible due to the low temperature, but he can’t see anything through the mist. The flying ashes touch his skin and they disappear like snow with the touch of body warmth. He bends down next to me, slowly, still  scanning the air.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“What are you doing?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I am tracing a symbol on the sand with a stone. It may seem just a beer-barrel-sized circle, crossed by a line that protrudes three feet on both sides.  It will protect us from the creatures that wander through the desert at night. We will only have to stay standing, each with one foot on an end of the line. I tell him.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“Creatures? What creatures? Are there any critters here, on the outskirts of</em>—<em>?”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Dean!”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>My urgent tone makes him react instantly, and he puts his foot on the line that is closer to him, looking at his front, with his right profile to me. In that very moment, with a deafening squawk, a gust of wind literally crashes on the barrier that my symbol created, and an explosion of pestilent, black fluid bursts a few inches from Dean’s mouth. Luckily for him, he had his mouth closed.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“What the he</em>—<em>?” He says disgusted, cleaning his mouth on his sleeve. But suddenly, another invisible crash shakes the air around us, this time close to my right side. We hear the thrust and the bubbling moan of the beast, which goes away. </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Damn it, Cass, what was that?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“The inhabitants of the Desert of Despair. They go out only in the night. They crawl searching for something to take to their mouth. They devour each other and, the next night they are whole again. I doubt they have seen any other being than themselves. They must be eager to tear us apart. The moment the word is spread, we will be totally surrounded.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Freaktastic.” he says that with quite an amount of frustration. “And shouldn’t we kill then in case they may alert the fucking Disneyworld guards?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“They can't leave the desert, Dean. They can't communicate with anyone, or have any intelligence either.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Awesome, I feel much better now.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The chat is stopped when three attacks hit us at the same time from three different points. The barrier around us trembles, but of course, it resists. This time, the moans don't go, but they surround us, as if they were walking around us. A snort on my ear makes my hair move for a second. I remain undaunted, I know they can’t get in. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Four days. We have been four days holding, standing, staying inside the lines.  The atmosphere around us turned long ago into a rumble of screams, moans, grunts and barks so loud and constant that any human eardrum would be bleeding. My vessel, my body, has no problems. I look at Dean out of the corner of my eye. The elixir he drank when we came down is working because there is no blood on his cheeks. But his head must be about to explode. However, he remains still, some limb shaking a little from time to time because of tiredness. He doesn’t even talk. It was so long when he stopped the comments, the cursing, and even the grunts. Now he just looks at his front and holds. Hold. Four days.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The hits against the barrier keep coming from everywhere, even over our heads. Sometimes, the blast of a stronger crash shakes us, but we don’t lose balance. It usually comes with a wet explosion of black or purple blood that gets on our clothes indeed. Dean’s jacket and jeans are almost black. My trench coat, too. Dean used to clean the stains on his face with his sleeve or his collar before. Now he doesn't even bother, he has no clean clothes left.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It is still cold, I know it because the air that comes from my body materializes as whitish breaths. I can’t feel temperature, or tiredness, and the fearsome noise the predators emit, or their smell, doesn’t affect my nerves. Sometimes, some feet away, streams of blood splash followed by grunts and tearing sounds, and dust is lifted from the ground. They are fighting for us, or it's only their frustration making them attack their neighbors. There is an immense chaos around us.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I look back at Dean. The barrier will hold. He just has to stay on the line. A step back or forward and he will be at the mercy of the predators. His gaze is fixed on the misty horizon, and it makes me reprimand myself for that moment of doubt. That’s why I took him out of Hell. A sensation I can’t identify flashes in my chest. Can it be pride?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Then I realize. There are fewer sounds, the ground has stopped vibrating because of the leaps and the swipes, ashes are floating smoothly, almost calmly. The air feels less vicious, and the stink has been considerably diminished. Some dragging-like noises end up lost in the distance. They are gone. The mist of my breath vanishes. It is daylight, dawn on the land of eternal ash and fog. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I wait for a moment until the atmosphere is completely clear and I sigh. Although I don't feel fatigued, the situation tested my patience. Not because it felt too long, regarding my age and my perception of time, but because we really are in a hurry. We have to find Sam before his body rots.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>I turn to Dean, who remains still with his fixed gaze and clenched jaw. I get closer to him</em>—</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“Dean</em>—<em>”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>and his knees bend down like gelatin under the weight of an enormous hand. He falls on the ground with a thud, no sound coming out of his mouth. Just a gasp. I quickly kneel down beside him, take his jaw with my hand and turn his face to me. He has his eyes closed, and underneath the black, dry filth I can see the haggard shades around his eyes, lips slightly open. His skin is frozen, and cold sweat grooves on the dirt of his forehead.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Dean!”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>He does not answer. I lift him up by his shoulders, sitting him up, and clumsily charge him on my back. I stand up and lean forward to stabilize the weight so he doesn’t fall back since he can’t hold on. His arms are hanging down on each side of my neck, and I hold his legs with my arms. I start walking. If we are lucky enough, we will leave the damn desert behind today. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. FIGHT FIRE WITH FIRE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sammy is in front of me, he is younger. In the darkness of the street where I have parked my Impala, he responds:</p>
<p> </p>
<p> “Yes, you can.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I just told him I can’t do this alone. I look away and reply:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, well, I don’t want to.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sam sighs and asks:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What was he hunting?” He means Dad. It is the day I sneaked into his house to ask him to come back to the hunting. To ask him to come with me in the search for our father. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I wake up. I am thirsty. A piercing cold hits my bones, my head felling dizzy. I get up, and Cass’ trench coat slips aside, leaving my side uncovered. My shirt is black, and it smells worse than the bathrooms from a disco in rush hour. Luckily it is not sticky, or hard. The shit those creatures bled hasn’t coagulated on the fabric. The first thing I will do once I put a foot outside Hell is burning my clothes. The second, drowning in the bathtub.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I am sitting on a small clearing, surrounded by tall bushes full of hand-sized thorns. The color around me is still darn grayish. The air, however, is now warm and brings the unmistakable smell of sulfur and rust. Before I can completely sit up, Cass appears crouching from the bushes. He puts a finger on his lips, his eyebrows lifted up. I know, Cass, I wasn’t going to make noise. Who do you think I am?</p>
<p>He nods pointing up, beyond the wall of thorns. I get closer, and slowly peep out to look at the horizon. We are on a ground elevation, and downwards, far away in the lowlands, an imposing silhouette stands out, rising up to the dirty sky: a lone tree with the size of a fifty-story building. Its cyclopean, naked branches shine with the reflection of tremendous fires at its bottom, and from its thousands of thorns bodies are hanging in extremely twisted postures. They still move.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I crouch back down to the protection of the bushes. I control my breath and fix my gaze on whatever spike in front of me. They still move. Damn it, Dean. And you have just started.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I peek out again, tightening and loosening my fists to somehow ease the sensations that run through me.</p>
<p>The fire pits at the bottom of the tree are fed by misshapen, at least seven-foot tall, humanoid beings. I can't see them well from the distance, luckily. Eleven in all.  They drag rocks and branches and toss them to the fires. A wooden cart, tugged by another one of them, stops and reveals the content that was covered by a canvas: an amount of bodies. They take them one by one and toss them to the flames.</p>
<p>I sit again, my back to the bushes and the scene. I think my expression of anger and repulsion speaks for me, but I can’t hold back the tremble on my fists. It is not just anger.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We have to go there” Castiel, always with his deep and calm voice. It doesn't matter if he is saying “good morning”, or “beware, the dog bites”. Right now, I am a bit jealous. Very.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The tree. There is a door on his trunk. It takes you to the depths, to the first layer of Hell itself.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Those are souls. Of people.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Those are the luckiest. The ones on the roots are not so lucky. And the ones below— Well—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He is careful enough to not say “you know.” Good for Cass. I close my eyes breathing, breathing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Cass, just— Tell me what to do. And fast.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Somebody tell me what am I doing in a fucking Mordor designed by HG Giger. As long as we go down the damn stairs I run out of ideas to distract my mind from the moaning and wailing that come from the hung on the roots. My gaze is fixed on the hem of Cass’ trench coat. That son of a bitch wears it clean. It does not matter if he gets splashed with mustard or with the blood of infernal predators, because the dirt goes off astonishingly fast. Same as any other stain or wound that appears on his skin. I still have some shit behind my ears. The more I rub, the more dirt I take. Shit.</p>
<p>I rub my fingers behind my ears hoping to take some bits of coagulated dirt. That way, I focus on ignoring the sounds and shapes that come along with us on the way down, like pictures hanged on the wall. I am sure it is decoration. They are no more than mere decoration. From time to time, someone moves making a crack that would put even Alien’s teeth on edge. Holy Alien. Right now it seems the nicest creature on earth to me.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I listen and observe, my senses on maximum alert. We are not supposed to find anyone on the stairs to the Upside-Down Tree, but you never know. This is Hell. The unexpected can happen any moment. For example, the four days the night in the desert lasted. If four months or so on Earth are forty years down here, I can't add up. But this is Hell, chaos and no control. Opposite to Heaven. Or it was that way before, when things were still in order. Now there are intrigues, jealousy, games of power.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I sigh, sending away the thoughts of my home, my family. This is something that will have to wait.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>We go down the last step. Some feet ahead, there is a lagoon that gets lost in the dense mist. We get closer to the shore, I can see some mountainous shapes far away. The putrid water stink invades everything. I lean over the water. It is so unclear that my reflection appears like a dark shadow over it. By my side, Dean tries to look. I stop him putting a hand on his chest.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“The water must not absorb your image.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>He looks at me with a strained gaze, as if looking at the horizon.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“When were you going to tell me? I mean, when were you going to tell me all this? The creatures of the desert, the freaking tree guards, the damn water.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I squint, too, and tilt my head amazed, trying to understand through my gaze.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><em>“Dean, you already knew this place is full of</em>—<em>”</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Fuck yeah. But I don’t know how exactly. I mean, damn it, Cass. I can’t be all day right behind your ass, wondering where is the next hit coming from. I can't do shit like that. Make me a favor and explain to me what are we dealing with after every layer we cross.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Ok,” I slightly nod. It makes sense, I hadn’t thought about it. I am used to act with partners that have the same information as me; or lately, alone. Dean has always hunted in pairs, with his father or his brother. Two people without telepathy have to talk before acting.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I crouch and scratch the rocky shore with another rock. I draw white lines.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“We are here. We have to cross the Styx lake. On the other shore, the first circle of Hell awaits for us. Here is where the tortured souls begin, it will be full of demons. But before that, when we disembark, we need to be careful with Cerberus, the guardian on the shore.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><em>“The circles of Hell. Like the ones by that writer from the year</em>—<em> Long ago? Denting, or whatever.”</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Dante.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Bang.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Not really. Dante had mystic dreams that he used for his writings. But he told it his way, based on other mythologies and his own imagination. Besides, his dreams were never complete.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Good. For once I can say that reading is overrated.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I explain a little more. Also about the feelings he can get in that place. The moment we put a foot on the other shore, the emotions of the condemned will be almost tangibles in the environment. It will get stronger as we get closer to them. Dean just keeps his concentration look, memorizing each of my words and the drawing under his eyes. He sometimes lifts his eyes, scanning the place, imagining what I am describing, and calculating in his head. Now he is a hundred percent a hunter. His factions are stronger, and he leaves no space for feelings. I can't help feeling amazed by human flexibility. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>With a rough “got it”, he stands up and concludes the class. He twists the demon-killing knife on his fingers and puts the blade back, aligned with his forearm. I stand up and toss a stone in the water, which swallows it without a single splash, with a deep, sticky sound.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>On the lake in front of us, a shape is appearing as long as it gets closer and gets out of the mist. A barge full of lichen, mollusks and cephalopods’ shells, and older than a millennial wreck, docks on the shore. On it, a tall figure, double than a human, very thin and hooded, is holding a rod that he uses as a paddle. His hands are the only thing the fabric leaves uncovered. Some worms travel them going in and out between the shattered muscles. The fabric of the cape is also covered on shells, tore and discolored. It smells like fish heads, sulfur and rotten fruit.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I extract two golden coins from my trench coat, the demon takes them and saves them inside his sleeve. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Holy shit, you must pay to be eternally tortured,” Dean mumbles on his sarcastic tone.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“This is not a payment, Dean. It is a sign that we abandon all our purity and hope. We leave behind all that attached us to the Earth or Heaven.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I don’t remember having to pay shit.” He jabbers getting on the barge before me, trying not to touch the demon.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“There are many ways to enter the underworld. This is just one of few. Others don’t require paperwork or journeys.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Tell me about it. Kick on the ass and directly to the hole, no advise. This is for dickless girls.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>The trip over the lake is slow, the boatman’s rod moving forward and backwards, touching the bottom and dragging the boat with the strength of his skeletal arms. The light swing would numb anyone who wasn’t an angel or a hunter. The heat in the air is getting stronger and stronger. The mist turns orangish as long as we keep going. We can hear now the sounds of moans. And also machines.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>We dock with a somehow violent shake. The mist left a very thick air, almost visible. The sky is covered with filthy, black clouds where red flashes are reflexes from the fire, the sparks, the lava and the electric shocks. Different figures are spread everywhere you look: giant machines that move some part of their construction in constant swings to inflict pain to as many souls as possible. Details can’t be completely seen from here, Hell is a very wide terrain. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I look at my partner. He is still in soldier mode. Everything is fine.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The heat of he air gets inside my lungs, burning everything as it goes. Sweat drips on my eyebrows. We go on slowly, every step we take we make sure the irregular terrain is firm. We often go around half-broken bodies that crawl on the floor, leaving a purple trail behind them until they fall deadly tired. Some of them don't even have any breath to moan. We go among both condemned and demons unnoticed. Sometimes, the executioners lock their gaze on us, but they are surprised, as if they saw an illusion, and soon they are back to their jobs. It seems the only demon who could notice us was the boatman, who was blind, because we had the coins. For the rest, we don’t exist.</p>
<p>Even though we are in physical bodies and they are not, we can see them as if they were formed out of matter, As if this whole damn place was material. It may be its own way. Maybe we are the ones who became more subtle.</p>
<p>A laughter explodes in my ear. It is not the moans, the sounds of the blades cutting, the hammers or the cogs, but what makes me really nervous is the laughters of the demons.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I observe with all my attention, keeping my left hand, free from the knife, separated from my body and ready for any possible attack. The constructions around us are very high, many of them get lost between the dark clouds. In every story of the buildings, millions of souls squirm under different machines. I spit down to the feet of a demon which is full of pustules, the flavor of ashes doesn't leave my tongue. The moment we docked, Cass gave me a handful of ashes from the floor to swallow. Again, to hide our own identity. We have to eat parts of Hell from time to time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>How different is my perception from the one I had the first time I came down here. I had no bones, muscles or even skin to separate me from the place, from them. I kept my individuality, my form, but there were no boundaries, no— I stop my memories. I put them on the last drawer on the back of my head. I focus on our actions, our path. Forward, always forward. Wait for me, Sammy. I am already closer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A hand takes me by my ankle. It has blood on it, and reddish skin hangs from the fingers, from the arm. And that’s it. There is no more body, but it is clutching me strongly. I kick it without thinking about it. It crawls a little bit more until a strong demon with his chest uncovered and a leather hood threads it on a rusty spear. I look away from that and again to my front. My ability to focus when I have a well defined objective is incredible. One part of my brain wonders quietly if I am also a monster. I am not going to answer that question.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>We cross the first zone of Hell without any problem. My head still beats by the deafening sounds that have gone along with us non-stop for several hours. Now, Cass is sitting down with his legs crossed, his eyes closed, as if meditating.</p>
<p>I clean the sweat on my forehead for the umpteenth time. My tongue and throat are so dry, but I can handle the thirst and pain. My body is not functioning as it would do on Earth. I don’t feel hunger, no necessity of pissing or sleeping. Thank goodness because otherwise I don't know how would I have handled those four days in that satanic Sahara. However, I do feel tired, but I can hold it even though I know well that I won’t sleep. It is an awkward sensation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How are you doing, Dean?” He asks with his eyes closed, as if he had just read my thoughts. He surely has done it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Awesome.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Whenever you need to stop, just say it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No way I’m stopping” I say bothered and a little offended.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You didn’t understand. At some point, your body will start to fail, and you will need to drink the elixir I prepared for you,” in response, I place my hand on the chain around my neck. “You must be careful --if you wait too long, you could die."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Damn it, Cass, I know. I can measure my own strength."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then, what is this all about? Damn angel of the Lord. Has he always been so arrogant? Or is it just me that I’m nervous? Despite my efforts, after all, I am nervous.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>We are three steps away from a geyser from which sulfuric vapor comes out sometimes. Around us, there are several like this, letting go some shitty smoke that makes me think about the beginning of Apocalypse Now, napalm setting trees on fire to the beat of The Doors. We will always have the 70’s. Now that I think about it, I feel like the character of Martin Sheen, going through hell itself in Vietnam, but he had the sky over his head. He was lucky.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Castiel opens his eyes. His expression is— The same as always. He stands up and goes towards one of the geysers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This way. We will go down this way.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A large amount of boiling smoke flies out. I rise my eyebrow and give him a give smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh man, a pressure cooker, my favorite. We can sing “Under the Sea” while we boil.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He ignores me, as usual, keeping his gaze on the hole, waiting for something only he can notice. Suddenly, I am very happy for having this damned angel of the Lord by my side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With that, he jumps to the hole. This whole explaining-things-to-Dean-before-acting deal, he doesn’t give a shit about it. We are going to have to work more on this communication crap, or I am not sure I will be out of here safe and sound.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In contrast to the upper level, the silence down here is so creepy. It is only from time to time when we can hear a drop hitting the floor, or a distant sigh. The atmosphere is horribly humid and hot, the smell of salt and mold fights with the one from the sulfur suspended on air. The yellowish dust on the air stands out on the blue walls and floor. Also, the walls shake. It is a soft movement, but I can feel it without any problem. And the floor quivers lightly every time we step on it. The material this place is made of seem organic. There are pustules everywhere what grow and grow and then explode, letting off the smoke that we saw earlier. As much as I cover my nose, I can’t smooth the smell, and my eyes are stinging so much that my vision is blurred by tears. Castiel, on his side, walks normally.</p>
<p>I definitely envy him so much. Very, very much.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>I walk faster than in the last level. The Agony Gorge is a dangerous place. We can’t let any pustule explode on us --it would be the beginning of the end. Not even my vessel would bear that --it would start rotting hopelessly</em>—<em> Wait a second. Damn it.</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Dean, avoid the scabs at all costs.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“No shit, Sherlock!” </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I mean it.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>He sighs desperately, rolling his eyes.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Tell me something I don’t know.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“At any moment, we will find the Renaissance Chamber. You must pay attention at the hallways, if you see any green flash in any of them, tel me. That is the way.” I keep walking. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“So?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“So?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Cass, look. I don’t know what language should I talk to you in. What is in that chamber? What are we looking for?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, right. Communication:</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Information.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>There is a silence. Dean sighs.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Information about what, Cass?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Sam's whereabouts.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Dean stops, his factions stiff and he gets really serious.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Sam’s whereabouts,” he repeats nodding slightly, clenching his jaws. “Wasn’t that information important enough to share it with me?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I throw myself upon him, falling on the ground. We fall with a thick sound that echoes on the closest wall. A pustule explodes seven inches away from where we are. Even though I saved his life once more, Dean hits my chest with his right forearm, pushing me away. Maybe I was too heavy. He stands up very angry.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“What have I done?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“No, Cass. What HAVEN’T you done,” he passes his hand by his nose and mouth, the other hand on his hip, and gives me a withering look. “This is not the way it works, dude. You gotta tell me each and every fucking detail you know. Specially when they have something to do with Sam. You gotta explain to me what the hell we are doing, even though we have to stop every two minutes. I need to have the same information as you, this is why we are hunting together.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><em>“You can’t have all the information I have-- your brain</em>—<em>”</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Jesus-fucking-Christ, Cass. I mean now, this job. The necessary things to end this fucking job. Is it that difficult to understand?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“No, I don’t think so.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Out with it, then.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I observe one of the ovules. It is as high as my knee, and I would need to extend both my arms to embrace it, the shape is very similar to a bird’s egg on the floor. Instead of a shell, it has a translucent membrane and inside there is a humanoid shape that heavily move to change its posture.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Like this, millions of cubicles spread underground until they get lost in the horizon. A horizon with a so low roof that if I went on my tiptoes, my head would touch it. The roof is held by some aleatory columns, and the atmosphere is tinted green because of a fluorescent light that beats inside the membranes.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Some eggs look broken, the shell shattered and gelatinous liquid evaporating. Others are empty, waiting for a future host, and don’t have any light yet. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And some of them are getting filled. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>There are tentacles all over the walls, like roots stuck to a rock. Their diameter is the same of a closed fist, and they are infinitely long. Sometimes, one starts trembling, it separates from the wall it was attached to and lets itself fall into the closer egg, suctioning its membrane. The shake gets stronger and suddenly, the tentacle emits a pitch black fog that enters directly in the ovule. It reminds me of squid’s ink.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>The ink takes shape inside the shell and the tentacle goes back to its place. First, the shape is small like a baby, and then grows slowly until it gets the size of an adult human in a fetal position. When that being is mature, the shell explodes letting the pus go. The creature, covered in thick fluid and disoriented, is taken by another tentacle that drags him to the walls which, literally, swallow it. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>That is how demons are born. Such dark souls that they forgot their human condition are suctioned to this chamber, and in the ovules they reformulate their essence in order to get out as servers of the underworld. The part of Hell they are sent by the tentacles I don’t know, and it is not my problem.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Dean gasps and I pay attention to him, who is several feet to my right. An egg has just hatched beside him, and the demon inside is clumsily trying to stand up. It mumbles and isn't able to control his recently acquired body. He reaches for something to hold on to something he can’t focus yet. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And then I freeze: Dean reaches out. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>He drags it to his chest and pulls up from the arm out of its joint, getting the dark silhouette to plant its feet on the ground. The liquid that gushes out from its contorted body slips down heavily on Dean's jacket and leg. The creature manages to get some balance and moves from his chest,still keeping its knotty hands on him.  It looks up to see my friend and right then it flies out backwards. A tentacle has just picked it and it disappears in the wall with a horror scream. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Dean stays for a while looking at the place where it went. Then, he looks at his clothes, sticky and wet for the amniotic liquid. He lays his back on the closest column and lets himself fall until he sits down. He embraces his knees and puts his forehead on top of them. He doesn't move a bit until I finish gathering all the information I need.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I am relieved that we have left the chamber of the eggs behind. Not for me, but for my partner. He has not said a word since then, and we have already been walking for hours now. It unsettles me when he stays quiet for so long.  His expression is severe, and his eyes focused in some point I can’t identify. I am not able to know what he is feeling-- after encountering so many souls, my senses are saturated, like when someone smells a perfume for too long that they are not able to recognize it anymore. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Despite my concern, I keep going because I see that he hasn’t lost concentration or reflexes. Just an hour ago, he himself defeated three earth serpents that were lurking since we entered the Adramelech Rainforest. Since then, he walks in front of me, and makes his way with his machete, cutting the purplish vegetation that closes in on us.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Among the leaves of the tallest trees, a false night sky with purple stars is visible. It is said that each one of those stars is the lost hope of the innocent that ended up in Hell. A crimson drop falls from a branch to the forehead of the hunter I have in front of me. He looks up and observes the line of dripping heads that bloom from a palm tree as if they were fruits. He cleans his forehead with two fingers like it doesn't matter and changes direction to find a very much easier path for us to descend.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>And that is when my instinct warns me, but it’s too late. I was so lost on my thoughts that I am not able to avoid the clamp my left leg has fallen in. The trap’s rusty teeth go through my calf, and blood starts running quickly. Of course, I also feel the pain of my torn muscles and broken bone. Here, in Hell, the pain has a particular echo that reverberates in all my cells.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Argh, shit,” I drown the words between my teeth with a deeper tone than usual.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Dean kneels down quickly and efficiently, and examines the damage. He tries to open the trap with his machete but he can’t.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Shit. Wait, Cass,” at least he speaks again.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>He goes away and searches between the vegetation. He cuts what he needs and improvising a lever with the wood and the weapon, he finally frees my leg. The blood is already being absorbed by the soil and the fallen leaves. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Dean, we have to go.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Yes.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Now!”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>A tiger twice as its usual size has appeared between the weeds and lurks, willing to take the last leap towards us. Dean, who was charging me on his shoulders, changes his mind and getting away from my arms he stays in front of me.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><em>“Dean</em>—<em> “ I raise my hand in order to take him by the shoulder and stop him, but my fingers grab the air because he has thrown himself forward, the machete in his hand, trying to take the beast by surprise.</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>The tiger jumps, too. It falls on him. With just a claw that covers him almost completely, it traps him on the floor. I hear ribs cracking, and the hunter spits blood in a gasp. Just a few seconds before the tiger closes its giant jaws on his head, Dean's machete stabs the animal’s palate with a metallic flash. His free arm was the one holding the weapon. Thank Heaven. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I react.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The tiger puts his head back and uses his other claw to try to get the stick out. With this movement, he puts all his weight on the paw that now suffocates Dean, who vomits more blood with a gurgling sound. I the blade I carry in my trench coat sleeve slip to my hand while, in just one leap, I am an inch away from the animal and I stab my blade in his ear. Before the beast growls with pain and surprise, I drag the blade forwards, taking part of its flesh, brain, bone and eye with me, and setting the blade free when it has no more obstacles to cut. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The tiger moves back with growls and moans. From the wound that I made on the animal comes a shining that finally ceases, and the beast falls down totally dead. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I kneel down over Dean, who is torn apart. His ribcage is totally pulverized, and his lungs flooded with blood because the ribs are trespassing them. His hip is also broken, and his vital organs are smashed. He is drowning in his own blood. During the milliseconds I have to decide, I think about all the options. Letting him die is NOT one of them. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>With an astonishing speed, I take the necklace from his neck, the magic glass hasn’t broken under the tiger's weight. I take the top with my teeth and empty the content in his mouth. I close it with a hand, also covering his nose, and with my other hand I lift his head to help him swallow. Swallow, please, swallow. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>If he doesn’t, he will die in two seconds, and I don’t have any more time to use other options. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And Dean swallows.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>In a second, a burst of blood explodes on the hand I am already taking away from him. And then, Dean arches his back upwards and a pure white light, a long forgotten color in the world, shines inside of him and comes out from his eyes and his open mouth. It only lasts a second, and his body falls back heavily on the floor without life. I wait. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Suddenly, Dean opens his eyes, taking a desperate breath as if he had just come out of the water. He blinks for a second, his gaze disoriented until he looks at me. He gets up slowly leaning on one arm, touching his chest with his other hand. He looks at me with his mouth and eyes wide open. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><em>“I used all the elixir. I didn’t want to risk it with the amount regarding the situation</em>—<em> “ my voice surprises me-- does it have a guilty tone? I sigh. “I don’t know if I did good-- I could have used my Grace, but that would have given us away. And I don’t know if we would have had time to escape, not saying that our mission would have failed.”</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><em>“The elixir</em>,<em> could bring me back to life?”</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“It could heal your body, besides making it stronger against Hell's harshness. You didn't die all the way, so it fixed you.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Holy shit” he whispers, his face pale. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I help him stand up and once there I keep holding his back. Despite the potion's effect, which is immediate and infallible, I does not seem able to stand by himself alone. He rubs his eyes with a hand and turns his head to look at me. Our faces are just a few inches away. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Do you need some rest?” I ask.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“No, no” he looks down to see how his fingers bend on his hands. “I am okay. I feel strong.” He steps aside, still a little confused, but decided. “Let's go.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Before marching again, he frees his machete from the beast's palate and goes ahead to open the way. With three steps, the wound on my leg has disappeared.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. MASTER OF PUPPETS</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Finally we had some of the miraculous concoction left. Two droplets resisted anchored to the bottom, those typical ones who always refuse to get out of any jar. I put it in my pocket. I don’t know if that little can do something, and Cass doesn’t know either, but it having it relieves me. I was supposed to drink sips when I needed, trying to make it last so I didn't have to go against the clock like we are now for Sam. But, surprise! Winchester's luck. Now I have an energy kick, and we don’t know how long this is going to last. We don’t know if it will be enough for the way back. Cass has been careful enough to not say this last thing, but his look did.</p><p> </p><p>Now we are ascending through such an inclined wasteland that we have to hold onto the rocks so we don't roll back down. It was long ago when we left the perverse vegetation. There are only Cass and I among the whistling wind, the crimson sky and the hard rock ascending. The hill ends becoming a mountain’s slope.</p><p>Don’t fuck with me, dude. I had to do a lot of things in my hunter life, but climbing a freaking mountain? Seriously? Cass just raises his eyebrows in response to my expression, as if saying “it is what it is.” Luckily, the stone is irregular, and it’s easy to find places to put our hands and feet. Cass, on my right side, keeps my climbing speed. I touch a couple of times before I find a safe hold, while his limbs make precise movements in specific points. He is taking more time for me, and that drives me mad-- I am not a little princess who he needs to look after constantly.</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t have much time; go ahead” I say.</p><p> </p><p>“Separating is not an option. Surviving possibilities are reduced in half for both of us.”</p><p> </p><p>“OK, Spiderman,” I sigh and try to hide the hopelessness I am feeling.</p><p> </p><p>The climb is very long, discouraging. It is heavy and slow. Everything in this damn world is heavy and slow. Languid as the</p><p>
  <span class="u">mud that falls down my trachea, not leaving space for me to breathe (even though I don’t really need air) filling my stomach since so long that they are going to explode</span>
</p><p>Cass’s hand smashes my mouth against the wall with a shake. I breathe agitated, with my mouth on the rock. What happened? That memory has passed through me as if I had been hit by a lightning bolt, from head to toes, a physical sensations. Seeing the way that Cass is holding my back, it seems I have been about to let go. Since we entered in Hell I have been remembering scenes, sensations, of course. But even though they made my soul shrink, they were mere thoughts. But what was it now?</p><p> </p><p>“Can you keep going?” He asks very worried looking at me like he wants to be inside of me. From his surprise I deduce that he is not able to receive my emotions.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure” my voice comes out high-pitched. I cough.</p><p> </p><p>When we get to a cornice that is big enough for us to sit down, shoulders touching, I am exhausted. I don’t know how I would have made this climb without the energy kick I have. Millions of cramps run through my limbs, and each muscle in my body screams in pain. And it doesn’t finish there. The damn mountain doesn't end up there. God.</p><p>The wind feels like blades, and it whips our hair without mercy. It is hard to get oxygen, or whatever they breathe in this creation's fucking latrine. I look at my wet hands and damn, it isn't sweat, but blood. They are raw. I let go a light moan of desperation. I look up and only see more and more rock until it gets lost in the fog. The chance of leaning and letting myself fall appears terrifyingly attractive. I hope this ends. I just want this to end.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean, Dean!” Castiel shakes me by my shoulders, getting me out of the spiral.</p><p> </p><p>“You won’t forget my name.”</p><p> </p><p>He sighs relieved, fear going away from his eyes. So blue. That is the only real color that I appreciate since— when? How long have we been down here?</p><p> </p><p>“I shouldn't have brought you”, he confesses, more to himself than to me, as if he was reprimanding himself.</p><p> </p><p>“Don't you dare repeat that”, I say with my voice full of anger and terror. What if—? What if he is right?</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>With the last boost and the help from Castiel’s arm, I get in the room.</p><p>The mountain led us to the wall of a castle which was built on the top. A fucking castle. We are definitely in Disneyworld. After climbing several blocks of stone, we have found this window and slipped in. The room that it leads to is narrow and full of objects, as if it was a little warehouse. I lean on a cupboard to catch my breath. I hate to ask it, but I say it:</p><p> </p><p>“Can we stop for a little bit?”</p><p> </p><p>My friend nods, his piercing eyes fixed on mine. I feel uncomfortable and look at the ceiling, sitting down with a lot of effort, my back against the furniture. Saying that I am wasted wouldn't explain even the 2% of what I feel. It has been too long since I can’t feel the torn skin on my hands and my lips, dried by the cold and wind. And it is not only my body.</p><p>I can’t stop thinking about a lot of things; about the fact that we haven't found Sam yet among them. That my brother's physical body can be rotting right now in Bobby's panic cell. That Sammy is in Hell, with whatever that is doing to him.</p><p> </p><p>I think about desperation. I don’t know if there is any feeling that terrorizes me more than that. It was desperation which</p><p>
  <span class="u">broke me. Alastair is inclined over me with the most triumphant, obscene grin that I have seen in thirty years. Only one word has left my throat, if I have been able to articulate it completely. He takes my right hand and puts an extremely sharp razor on it closing my fingers around the handle. I understand it will be my first tool</span>
</p><p>I flinch and unintentionally hit a jar with my foot. Cass takes it before it brakes against the floor and puts it back where it belongs. Being back to reality hits me with the same strength as during the climb. Cass observes me tilting his head, serious. Fuck, I am not crazy. I know where I am.</p><p>I am not mad.</p><p> </p><p>Then he kneels down by my side with that calm determination of his. He is going to do one of his angel tricks, although I don’t know how because he mustn’t use his magic. He pays attention to my hands, takes them slowly in his hands and twists my torn palms up. I wait and pay attention during the three seconds he takes to decide.</p><p>And I see how, with no words, he takes my hands to his mouth. Slowly, reverentially.</p><p>I don’t say anything either. Just hold my breath, astonished.</p><p> </p><p>The contact of his tongue on my wounds is warm. Painfully warm in contrast with all the ugly and uncomfortable sensations that have been drilling on me since I crossed the portal. I can't help my eyelids falling. His warm, wet tongue moves up and down, up and down.</p><p>God, so warm.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The taste of sulfur mixed with soil. Then, rust and iron. The coagulated blood and the fresh one. The irregular texture of the wounds, the callosities and lines of his fingers, the strong torn palms. Veins irrigating and tendons relaxing.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>A lightning goes from my hands until the ends of my body. It lasts a moment, but it is so powerful that I get goosebumps, and my back shakes and arches. By the time I catch my breath and open my eyes, he has left my hands on my thighs delicately and is getting his thumb wet with saliva, his lips slightly separated and the shining of the tip of his tongue is glowing in the darkness. He doesn’t stop looking at me. Takes his thumb closer to my face, to my mouth. I stay still like a statue, expecting, overwhelmed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Upper lip, padded, splintered, getting wet under my fingertip. The narrow corner of his mouth widens on the center, almost symmetric points crowning it, his breath caressing me in regular intervals. The delicate slope until the end of the mouth.</em>
</p><p><em>The lower lip</em>—</p><p> </p><p>He strokes me, spreading his saliva. Soft, warm. Summer sun. The scent of wild rosemary, the calm of a lake lost between the mountains. My Chevrolet Impala traveling on an empty road, the smell of her seats. The smooth touch of the steering wheel while I turn it. The sweet skin of the last girl I slept with. Her hair tickling my skin. The touch of the bed sheets on my naked skin.</p><p> </p><p>He takes the thumb away and I open my eyes. I realize that my breath is shaky, my heart beating faster and my crotch awake. He keeps eye contact and I can’t break it. I could never do it. He's the only beautiful thing in this never ending nightmare. So damn beautiful that I want to break down and cry. I want to hug him and never let go. I want to swim in the tender warmth he lets go. I want to snuggle on his chest and melt, and feel all my particles enveloped by that heat.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The person in front of me is about to collapse. I must bring him back. The pulse he exudes, however, makes me hesitate. I want to feel it a little bit more. It makes me want to get closer, to share part of my essence with him, receive his. Find a wave in which we can vibrate together, as if it could fill somehow the emptiness that God's absence left on me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I speak, sympathetic, with a warning tone:</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Dean—”</p><p> </p><p>His rough voice brings me back to reality. Castiel.</p><p>It’s just Cass.</p><p>The desire he took from me vanishes like melted ice. What was I looking at? I thought he was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. My eyes are still watery.</p><p>I pass my tongue along my lips, they are soft, the wounds have disappeared completely. It happened also on my hands.</p><p>I shake my head to come back to reality, letting go those last traces of almost mystical pleasure and the boner between my legs. I am not ashamed. My situation right now is on the fucking edge. You don’t get ashamed by little things down in Hell. You get ashamed when Alastair asks you if you want to star torturing souls and you answer yes.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It is getting complicated to orient myself inside the fort. The corridors and rooms don’t seem to have a logic emplacement. We pass by some demons from time to time, most of them have a festive ans relaxed attitude. This must be one of the few places where even them can take some rest. Reserved for a little elite. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Sam’s soul is inside this building, everything I intercepted in the Chamber of Renaissance lead to the same place. But the fact that Sam is in the underworld is classified information, and I am not a hundred percent sure that those clues were true. However, it's the only thing we have and we must bet on it. I haven't told Dean that we could be in the wrong place. After what he has been through to get here, agony would kill him. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>I am really worried about him. Yes, he lasted forty years in the hole, but it is worse now, because he knows. He is conscious of what awaits us if we fail. Of what awaits the world if Lucifer wins the battle. Of</em>—<em> It is too heavy for a man to carry on. I don’t think I could forgive myself if I lost Dean in this job; if he ended in Hell, Heaven, or just dead forever. </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I don’t know if it is too selfish to wish for him to keep living on Earth. He himself looks so tired sometimes that I know he would rather death. But there is always that Dean who laughs, eats pie and makes jokes about everything. The one who enjoys life as it is, the one who always fights with all his power, always surpassing the expectation of an angel like me. Making me amazed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dean is precious. The life in his veins is precious and I want to be with him until his light fades out. It will be such a short time for me but so intense that it will be etched on my essence with the same strength of a blast. This is how I appreciate Dean —as an amazing blast on the plane line of my eternity. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>A she-devil appears in front of us, blocking our way. She looks at us with her irregular eyes crossing, as if she was trying to see something that was there, but she can’t. She lifts her twisted hands, feeling the air, wanting to touch us. We back up slowly, looking at each other worried. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“It seems it’s Happy Meal's time”.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“I don’t believe there is any happy meal in Hell</em>—<em>”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“God, you're killing me!” He says rolling his eyes.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>We hide behind a column and she follows her path. We must eat something to be one with the atmosphere again. Dean taps on my sleeve. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Here you go, Gandalf, fresh from the cauldron,” he offers a golden cup with a pitch black liquid in it. He licks his lips with a big smile, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”.  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Leaving the empty cup in a corner, we take a look at a room with very high ceilings, furrowed columns and Gothic arches on the windows. Black velvet and golden remnants decorate the place. Were in first class with no trace of doubt. Around a long onyx table, a group of demons are messily and obscenely feasting, getting mixed with the food, furniture and themselves. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Wow, they're living it,” he gives me a nudge in a complicit gesture. “Thank  God they're fugly. One can’t get motivated like this, dude.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>I nod. The demons’ essence is unpleasant and infectious, so that is their form. </em>Unlike angels, it seems to be important for them to differentiate sexually, as in humans. <em>I guess demons keep the gender they had when they were alive, maybe just because they feel nostalgic. Actually, I can’t imagine what sexual differentiation can be useful for in a society  whose only purpose is torturing and perverting the most souls they can, including their own friends’.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dean taps me on the shoulder to tell me to follow him. A threesome, consisting on two demons and one she-devil, have just locked themselves in a room, and the hunter stays a little while listening behind the door. When laughter and moans get louder, he moves his head slightly to say we are going to enter. He opens very slowly, peeks in and confirms with his gaze. He gets in the chamber with exact movements, and I do the same, crouched. To the left, the noisy threesome, transformed in a mix of limbs, and to our right, at the end of the hall, a narrow staircase. Dean is already on them. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I climb after him, he has that focused and decided attitude. I guess he has heard something that may have escaped me, or he is following any kind of hunch. Anyhow, I fully trust him.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The staircase ends on a wooden trapdoor on the ceiling which he pushes, but it doesn’t move. He takes the machete out of his belt and puts the point between the wood and the rock. He levers it and opens it ajar. I press myself tight to him on the last step and help him lift the heavy door. A chain hangs from it and I hold it strongly so that it doesn’t hit the floor when it opens completely. I get it to fall slowly, and the door remains totally open to the unknown. Before going through it, Dean looks at me.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Sam is here.” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I nod, not because I know it, but to make him understand I believe him. I help him pushing him up, then he reaches out and finally I get to the next floor. We are in an oval hall lit by torches, the trap door is right in the middle. There are seven closed gates on the wall, each one of a different material. Dean looks at them squinting, his senses to their full best. I make myself small and try not to make any noise at all, I even stop thinking just in case it could interfere in any way. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>A moment passes. Two. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He goes to one of the doors at my back. Puts his open palm against the iron. Exhales. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“It’s here, Cass. At the end,” there is an emotion tone in his voice. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I examine the lock and grab a picklock from my trench coat. He taught me to use them one day, and I learned so fast that he gave me a ticket to a peep show. I never used it, but he said it is such a cultural spectacle.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The lock yields softly and I open the heavy door. A corridor with scarlet iridescence ends on a golden door. I can appreciate the distortion on the air now, the familiar radiation of Sam on it. I enter the corridor and, to my surprise, Dean closes the door behind me staying outside. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Dean?” I ask close to the iron, amazed.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Someone’s coming,” I hear him say through the metal. “You’re in charge, I cover your asses. Is there any trap door on the ceiling or the floor?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I take a fast look around. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“On the floor.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Take that exit if there are any problems,” I am about to answer, but as if reading my mind he adds: “I am not arguing, Sam goes first.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Be careful,” but I know he can’t hear me because he has already left the side of the door.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>The lead-built gate opens very slowly. I lift my demon-killing knife to the height of my chest and flex my knees to have more balance. This sensation. Damn it, this sensation</p><p>
  <span class="u">she is laughing, and laughing, and laughing. With those rotten, shape teeth, irregular because she has already lost some of them. Her head is merely a pestilent, despicable mouth. I focus on the hate she inspires me. Among everything I am feeling, hate is the best. He laughs while</span>
</p><p>The edgy figure stops at the entrance. Her scrolled-like lips divide his head on a line with the ends up. The upper part of her head is hidden under a black, stinking, putrid veil. The wide sleeves, made of the same fabric, reveal purplish forearms, full of bumps with tiny volcanic rocks under the surface. The thin skin that covers them is fully stretched from seam to seam, trying to cover the pounding musculature. The rest of the robe, also made of black tulle, drags in a large tail, completing the image of a nightmare bride.</p><p> </p><p>The face turns towards me, and the lips open, showing the irregular string of rotten fangs.</p><p>
  <span class="u">“Dean, Dean, Dean. Bad boy”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“Dean?”</p><p> </p><p>Her voice scratches the walls around me. She can see me? She tilts its head and shakes it from side to side. Takes a step into the hall I am in. I hold my breath without even thinking about it I am actually out of breath.</p><p>
  <span class="u">Alouqua</span>
</p><p>Alouqua. The apple of Alastair’s eye. Or so she was until I got into first division.</p><p>She inhales deeply, with a nasty sound as she sniffs the air.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean Winchester. What do we owe the honor of you visit to?” The phonemes sound sticky, old, like filthy honey.</p><p> </p><p>I, obviously, don’t respond. I don’t know whether it is on purpose or she left me with no words.  Why can she feel me? She takes three more steps, staying between the trap door and me. I press myself against the wall, getting the furthest from her that I can, but not putting down the demon-killing knife, which has started trembling in my hand. She remains in silence, with her head tilted, her veil falling down her left side. She looks for me. I don't know if she can hear or smell me, although if it was like that, she would have already bitten my head off. I think she can only feel me instinctively.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you think you can escape from me, boy?” She chuckles. “You and I have a story. Maybe not the same you had with the master, but you can’t deny there is something,” she gestures with her hand, pointing to herself and more or less the direction I am.</p><p> </p><p>She waits for another moment, trying to appreciate me. Then, she pulls on the thick chain she was holding with her left hand. I just realized she was carrying it. She starts pulling on it with both hands, because it is very long and gets lost in the corridor she came from.</p><p>The chain creaks against the rocks and some sparks fly away. The sound goes through my eardrums. And from the opening where Alouqua came from, a rather small bump appears and entangles on the tail of her dress, She laughs and turns to disentangle, her big and sharp hands move and pull violently, like blades on a machine.</p><p> </p><p>Think, Dean, think. Should I attack? My instinct says it would be a suicide. Somehow I feel that if I let go the energy I need to cut her, she would find me and it would be the end. Because she is much faster than me. I slide on the wall trying to go around her and have the way to the trap door free again.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh” Alouqua stops what she is doing and kicks closed the door that would lead me to my freedom. The sound of the wood against the floor rumbles, condemning my destiny. She chuckles again and goes back to disentangle.</p><p> </p><p>I take a look at the iron gate that Cass just crossed.</p><p>Sam.</p><p>I close my eyes for a moment, trying to calm down, they sting for the sweat that is running down my face and body. I am a few feet away from a shark in a damn fish bowl. The tinkling of the chain brings me back to the scene. I remain livid.</p><p> </p><p>By her side, there is a girl, no taller than my hip, with pale, freckly skin, almost albino hair and faded blue eyes framed by millennial bags. She is wearing a little tank top and whit cotton pants. Alouqua's chain is attached to a ring that lacerates her neck— the wounds on her collarbone and under her chin are bright red. Her bare feet have left a blood stain wherever they have touched, and despite the filth on her skin and hair, the cotton of her clothes are still snow-white. Except for the big crimson stain on her belly. Her expression is neutral and, if couldn’t see how her chest goes up and down, I would think she is a wax statue.</p><p> </p><p>What’s a girl doing here?</p><p> </p><p>“Do you remember, Dean?” Alouqua talks without losing her damn smile. “When we talked about going out for party. Oh, I insisted Alastair so that he would invite you. But he couldn’t, because you are not a demon,” she snorts. “You aren't, and still you took my place. What did he see in you?” She lifts her arm with anger, pulling on the chain and making the girl stumble. “These arms have worked too hard to inflict the most exquisite pain Hell has ever seen. All my body serves the intricate art of torturing! There is no one that doesn’t think about me as a referent! And however you, you— A simple human. Just because you were young, because your muscles and ligaments still went back to their place! Because your hair still shone when you put it to the fire, because you looked incorruptible! Because your fall was one of his best jobs! You were his damned masterpiece!”</p><p> </p><p>She takes some steps, her hands shaking with anger, and froths. I go away to the opposite side with my back still glued to the wall.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean!” she spits, I have never heard my name with such animosity. She calms down, smiles again licking her teeth. “Thirty years, Dean, did you prefer my sessions or the master’s? Come on, tell me the truth. I’ve always wanted to ask you.”</p><p> </p><p>Don't think, Dean. Don't think.</p><p> </p><p>She pulls again and puts the kid back at her side, who opens her eyes in surprise and pain.</p><p> </p><p>“Alastair and I went partying sometimes. You may remember because we were cheerful after that. This is a palace only for the best ones, those who have made something to rise this empire. We needed some reward!” She laughs out loud, and it is so horrible as I remembered, it makes my inside shrink. “We have had fun in this castle, the master and I. A little bit of everything, you know. But the icing on the cake is over there.”</p><p> </p><p>She points at the lead gate she went out through. She kneels down and lifts the kid's stained top with two fingers. There is a giant dripping hole where parts of intestine start slipping, free from the clothing now. Alouqua searches with a couple of fingers making a muddy sound and pulls out the spleen, takes it to her mouth and bites it exploding in blood on her chin.</p><p> </p><p>First, I throw up. Alouqua licks her lips while she laughs with her spine bended back. The girl hasn’t made any sound, but falls on her knees, inhumanly tired, her eyes glazed.</p><p>After that, I throw myself to that fucking whore roaring. She blocks my knife with her left palm, the blade stabbed in her flesh. With the other hand, she grabs my neck and hits me against the wall so hard that I almost faint.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean, Dean, Dean,” she spits, triumphal, an inch away from my face. “Baaaaad, boy.”</p><p> </p><p>She shakes her left hand, the knife falls down to the floor with a metallic sound and takes me by my balls. She presses.</p><p> </p><p>“First I am going to eat this delicacy in front of you, slowly, so it stays engraved in that knucklehead of yours. And I will make you try, you’re going to eat, hell yeah. And then I will start with you, tough guy,” she presses even more. “Like in the good old days. And I am going to call a couple of friends, what do you say?”</p><p> </p><p>“Bite me” I answer trying to breathe through the pain.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you horny bitch.”</p><p> </p><p>And then she grunts and twitches, and from her mouth comes a luminous flash that makes me close my eyes. She releases her pray and falls down like a tree. I stay half-straight, against the wall, gasping for air as if it was my last day on Earth. I look in the direction the blade in Alouqua's skull came from, and I discover Cass walking with great strides towards me.</p><p> </p><p>He takes me by the lapel and tries to make me stand, but my legs are paper-like and instead of standing, I slip back down.</p><p> </p><p>“It's OK, Cass. It’s OK,” I gasp.</p><p> </p><p>He lets me go slowly, and I sit down like a doll, still panting. The room is turning around me, and my heart is hammering my chest. Castiel takes his blade and my knife and looks at the girl worried. Then he kneels down by my side and looks at me with his questioning gaze.</p><p> </p><p>“Sam?” I ask with a thin voice.</p><p> </p><p>The angel puts one hand on his chest and taps it a couple of times. He opens his coat and shows a pocket with an oval, glass bottle in it. The part of the jar that shows from the pocket, casts a pristine, snowy light that hurts my eyes. He closes his trench coat instantly.</p><p>I arch my eyebrows, because it is the only gesture I can control, trying to say that I need an explanation.</p><p> </p><p>“Sam hasn’t gone out of here,” he says referring to the jar. “His soul has been stocked like this, it is intact,” there is a silence where I try to understand. “Technically, he hasn’t put a foot on Hell.”</p><p> </p><p>I sigh. At last, some good luck. At last.</p><p> </p><p>“It seems they were saving his soul for some special occasion. Maybe for a handover ceremony to Lucifer. I don’t know. The thing is, Lucifer is looking for Sam’s vessel, and—”</p><p> </p><p>“Sam’s body is rotting. Thanks for the cheering up, couldn’t you let me enjoy the good news a little bit more?” Castiel shrugs kind of surprised. “Help me stand up.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I take him under his shoulders and put him up. Dean tries to help, but his legs are still unresponsive. He stumbles, and his weight falls on my chest, I hold him tighter so that he doesn’t fall. To my surprise, he stays still, with his head on my chest and his body completely glued to mine. I can feel his legs trembling for the titanic effort he is making to hold one part of his weight.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“Cass, they, they</em>—<em>” his voice starts filling up with tears. “They have kids. Why do they have kids, Cass?”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I feel his teardrops running down that side of my neck.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Many souls end up in Hell unfairly.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“But children’s?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“As well.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>He sobs. Presses his cheek against my jaw. I tighten my hug a little. Despite the filth, blood, the sweat on his clothes, despite the smell of sulfur of his hair, despite this and much more, I don’t want to let go of him. His heat, his weight, his breath on my neck, his chest going up and down, all that and more has me surprised. I didn’t know that prolonged contact of two physical bodies could bring this warm sensation. This is the first time I hug someone for so long. I am living a lot of first times with Dean.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>Dean changes his weight to his legs and slightly pulls away from me, with his hands still on my shoulders and crestfallen. He silences a whimper and looks up. I find his green eyes, shiny for the tears that have already stopped. In this orangish light of the room, I can tell he has some tiny freckles on his nose and cheekbones. The fire from the torches plays modeling his facial features as it pleases. I think it is the most beautiful thing I have seen out of Heaven, I don’t know why I hadn’t seen it before. And I feel</em>—<em> Yes, I feel. I feel desire, I want to do something. Get my face even closer to his.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><em>Dean suddenly pulls away leaving an frozen emptiness in front of me. I blink a couple of times to get my amazement away. Suddenly, the room seems giant, I feel lost and</em>—<em> Yes, hurt. I look at Dean, bent over the kid, liberating her from the metallic ring. Why am I angry with him? He did nothing to me. It that it? That he didn’t do anything? Anything like what?</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>He fixes delicately the girl’s clothing, trying to cover well the hole on her stomach. What can he be thinking of? What does he feel when he sees that kid? What does he feel when he looks at me? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Holding the kid’s hand, he brings her and reaches out her little hand for me to take it. I do it and he goes to the lead gate. When he passes by the dead, he kicks her with all his strength.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“What are you doing?” I ask tilting my head, and he stops at the open door. “That is not the way” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“We are going to take all those kids out of this shit.” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I change my weight from one foot to the other.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“Dean</em>—<em>”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Cass” he copies my voice tone.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“It is impossible. There are millions.” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>He clenches his jaws. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Then it will be a giant birthday party.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“Dean</em>—<em>”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>He ignores me and goes into the corridor. I am angry now. And I know why. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“This is not a game!” I raise my voice so it gets to him, my tone is hard and relentless. “There aren't just those kids, Dean. There’s us, the Apocalypse, all the people on Earth. If they catch us, Dean, if we fail, what do you think will happen up there? This is bigger than you and me.” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I wait, don't hear steps, so he has stopped.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“You can’t save them, their destiny is already lost. But you can do something with the ones that are still alive. And I need you alive, Dean,” I take a breath, “Sam needs you.” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I stare at the door and he appears through it. I have never seen him so crushed. He looks at me with a mixed expression of anguish and impotence, and he is angry, too, because he knows I am right. He passes a hand along his mouth and stares at the floor.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“I follow you.”</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. DISPOSABLE HEROES</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>We walk quickly between corridors, I go first, looking everywhere, looking out for enemies and the path we must follow, and Dean covers the rear and flanks. Along the sound of our fast steps, there is another one, almost inaudible and much faster: the soft sound of the girl’s little feet, hurrying to keep our rhythm.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Dean has her by the hand and she walks, runs or stops with us, surprisingly agile. She is totally covered by shreds of Alouqua’s dress, the veil all over her face. The only visible part of her is the tiny hand that Dean holds in his fist. The expression behind the veil is still empty, and her look is hollow as if she was a robot. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I tried to reason with him, told him that we couldn’t take her with us, that it was too risky. I explained that a kid's soul would attract too much attention anywhere but in this castle, and she would give us away. But he didn’t want to listen to me, he just acted, as he usually does, stubbornly disguising the girl. At this point the only thing that remained was knocking him out or yielding, so here I am now, holding my anger and clenching my jaw, because I know it will be our ruin. I won’t let them catch us, if I have to choose, I am clear. If Dean is out of his mind, at least one of us must keep his head cold. How can you be so damn stubborn in a situation like this? I know Sam has an infinite patience, but now I think it is more than that, it must be a heavenly gift.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Once the disguise was ready, her belly had already recovered and I had finished covering Alouqua’s body. I hope it is long until someone discovers it and begins wondering.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Finally, we get to the point I was looking for. It is an endless staircase that goes down the center of the building and goes into the mountain. They aren’t narrow, but neither are wide enough to go down side by side. We go a long way down in a tense silence. I can hear the contact of Dean’s mountain boots on the stairs, after me. He carries the girl most of the time. I don’t know why I do it, but I turn around frowning and say: </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I will carry her for a while.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Dean blinks surprised. He passes her to me with no comments, but with gratitude on his look. When I take the girl, I touch his hands and the sensation of his skin on mine stays there longer than usual. As my anger has relaxed significantly, I speak: </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“How do you feel like?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>He doesn’t respond, but his steps stop. When I am about to turn around to look at him, unexpectedly, his weight falls on my shoulders and makes me fall forward with the girl on my arms. I hit the stairs trying to fall on my shoulder, protecting the kid and Sam. The pain is strong, but it doesn’t end there because we roll down the stairs violently for several feet. Thanks to a turn on the way, the wall stops us with its unyielding hand. I take a painful while to lay on my arm. My mouth is bleeding, and more blood is running down from my eyebrow. All my body hurts, and I am groggy. I put my hand on my pocket —the bottle is intact and I sigh relieved. The kid is two stairs down, difficultly standing up, the veil has fallen over her shoulders and her face is covered by bruises. I look to my side. Dean's body is on me, his head on a stair, facing down. Is he breathing?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I turn him around, he has a nasty wound on his head, and his nose is bleeding, but air goes in and out between his lips. At least, I was his parapet, he has nothing broken.  I call him tapping his cheeks, but he doesn’t respond. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He doesn't react.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I stay still for a while, holding his jacket’s lapels. A desperate feeling takes over me. I close my eyes and clench my jaws, I lean over his chest and let go just one sob with rage. What should I do? What else am I supposed to do? I look for God and can’t find him. My brothers in Heaven despise me. My friends on Earth are breaking down before my eyes. It is so unbearable to see how Dean is slowly breaking down.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But before my emotions take over control on my body, the girl taps me on the shoulder and I look at her very surprised. She looks back at me with no expression, but seeing me —there is someone in there. I laugh sadly, putting my hand on her hear and rubbing it lovingly.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">my hand shakes and Alastair closes his rough fist on it to give me balance, also helping me to not fall down. I feel the coldness that comes from his body close to me, and the hot breath that comes from his mouth and touches my ear: </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">“You were doing it right. Keep going.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">I swallow, my eyes full of tears. The soul in front of me shudders with the pain I have already caused on her. I can’t. I can't take her eyes out. But Alastair’s hand helps me do it. We have to dig, and the sound when it breaks loose from the skull is disgusting. I turn around and throw up the most bitter bile in the world. The king of torture laughs by my side and pats me on my hip.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">“It doesn’t matter, I know I can make a man out of you. You have the potential, Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">I kill him with my look full of bitterness. Alastair leans over my neck and fakes a bite, touching me with his devastating teeth, tickling me. It is not a threat but, on the contrary: he reminds me this is all water under the bridge. He reminds me I am on the other side now. That it is me who chose it. It is me</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The girl lies down on Dean's chest and stays still, like a normal kid on her asleep father’s lap. Despite the situation, Hell, all this mess, I observe the image overwhelmed. I don’t know why, but there is something divine in this moment. Here, in the darkest place of creation, where light doesn't reach. Here, before my eyes.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>There is still hope. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Dean wakes up. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, I am really sorry” I repeat with a terrorized voice to the empty air because the soul has suddenly disappeared.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A man takes my face with both hands and makes me look at him. What intense eyes. Where do I know him from? He calls me by my name with anguish. Where is that shithead Alastair? A little hand pinches my nose.</p>
<p>The freckly girl we found.</p>
<p>I look back at the man: Castiel.</p>
<p>Sam.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I stand up, my head still buzzing. I tell them I am OK, I can keep going. It’s only tiredness. Such a pack of lies.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Finally, we get to the sewers entrance. It is the final section until we get out of the mountain. An underground river starts at this point and runs through the inside, falling down until it ends in a pit on the opposite side to where we climbed. We stop before getting in the unhealthy liquid. It stinks and bubbles faintly for the hot temperatures, like the water in some swamps. Here and there, some remnants of lava float on the surface, reminding me of dirty foam on the sea.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>A fungal steam covers everything, and my body feels a slight wave of nausea for all that dirt. I can't imagine what this must be for Dean. I look at him and his gaze is fixed on the liquid, no gestures. His fierce determination is the only thing that keeps him alive.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Nike, just do it,” he whispers with a distant tone, as if he was far away from here. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I feel the precious jar in my pocket again and get in the mud, which covers me up to my waist. Dean gives me the kid and I hold her up so that she doesn't get wet. He gets in the water repressing a curse and shows his teeth.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s hot. Very hot.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I give him the kid and help him put her on his shoulders, her little legs hanging on each side of his neck.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Hey, kiddo, hold on tight,” it is incredible how he can give his voice that sweet tone. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>She obeys, always silent. Compassion stings in my chest, but I remain firm in my reasoning. We’ll see. We keep going with a lot of effort, slowly, the current in our favor is slow. Some feet ahead, the descent begins. Dean looks at the rapids on it and doesn’t say a word, but I know he needs me:</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“We only need to keep floating,” I say it to cheer him up, but it falls like a heavy stone. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><em>“Cass, the girl</em>—<em>”</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“She doesn’t need to breathe,” I look at him intensely, and he lifts up his eyebrows as if saying “oh, right.” Ironically, the safest one in Hell is her. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I put the back of my hand on my nose —it is bleeding again. I look up and cover my nose with my fingers, after a couple of minutes, it stops. The rattling is killing me, a bunch of knees, elbows and splintered bones are stabbing me. We are on a kind of steam train, some wagons are covered and others aren’t. It is made of bones, metal and hairs. I don’t know how Cass has managed to find this, I don’t know if this was by chance or not. I don’t know how we got on this. I have gaps with this strong headache. The wagon I am on is full of shattered, burnt or somehow decomposed souls. They are broken bodies that still live and feel, but they are not going back together. I don’t know why. I don’t want to know. Neither where they are taking them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The train stops sometimes and more bodies like these are charged in other wagons; they also fill it with other goods, and some demons jump on the covered zones to be transported. Lying on the bodies, tired, I think it must be night time, because everything has a gloom atmosphere. I don’t make any comment because I am not sure if it is that or my damaged eyes, I don’t want Freckly to be worried.</p>
<p>She is sitting down next to me, very stiff, covered by the veil and somehow covered by the bodies to go unnoticed. Maybe I have a serious mental issue if the only thing I could think of to named her is a pony-like name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cass gets to our side and couches down looking in every direction.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We must eat something again, Dean.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He gives me a piece, the size of a cherry, of the most disgusting flesh I have ever seen in my life. No way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What the fuck is that?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Worst thing is, he answers:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Demon flesh. There is a wagon up there which contains cadavers.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dude.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, Cass, nope.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dean—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A watchman jumps into our wagon. All armed and his body similar to a sumo wrestler. He moves with his foot the people's pieces, which let go some gasps and moans. He sniffs the air, as if something was wrong. He looks in our direction.</p>
<p>Fuck, fuck, fuck. I am not strong enough to get up now. Cass is, and strengthens himself with his blade ahead. It would e a damn mess, if we start killing demons, the alarm would go off right away. And I am not strong enough to withstand a western chase in a fucking terror train. But the sound of falling things makes him go to the next wagon determined.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Damn it, give me that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cass sits down and I take the piece with my fingers, but I can’t move. My hand refuses to obey me, and my teeth are determined to block the way. Hell, I can't, it is too disgusting and I am too damn tired. I think about Sam. I must do it for him. For Sammy. But I am still paralyzed.</p>
<p>Castiel puts a brotherly hand on my shoulder and takes the flesh in his hand. He looks at me gently and self-confident, like coping with it. Oh, God, Cass, yes. Thank you. Tell me there is another option.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He puts the flesh between his teeth and bites with a nauseating expression, almost painful, and I wrinkle my nose, too. He gives the bite back to me.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You only need to swallow.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He puts it closer to my face but instinctively, I turn away. Damn it, I can’t. I will throw up even my liver for this horrifying repulsion I’m feeling. I feel like shit, a looser, but there is something stronger that blocks me from doing it. I think that my iron will is starting to break. My friend sighs and puts it back in his mouth. No, please, I can’t break down yet. Sam is not safe yet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cass presses his lips against mine with such suddenness that my head hits the wagon’s wall. His hands trap my face and don’t let me go, his fingers nailed on my cheeks. Shit. My heart races and I hit his shoulders, but he gets closer to my body, lying over me. I feel how his tongue pushes against my teeth, trying to open them, but I clench harder. Fuck. Fuck. He nails his fingers in the intersection between the jaw and the skull to open it. Damn it. It hurts, and opens. He puts his tongue in my mouth with an indecent harshness, pushing the flesh to the back of my mouth. HOLY SHIT. I try to give it back with my tongue but his is stronger, I gag, and Cass pushes that shit deeper. Right to the bottom. Saliva and the most disgusting mix of flesh on Earth. The flavor runs through me. In order to not choke, by body makes me swallow shivering. I feel how that bolus runs down my throat and I let go a moan that gets lost in Castiel's mouth. My diaphragm makes me gag but I hold it. That fucking flavor is stuck on my body. He takes his tongue away dragging it along mine, and hide it behind his teeth, still keeping his lips on mine. Then he closes them and separates from me with the sound of a kiss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I am still shaking in Castiel's embrace, breathing distressingly, my stomach upside down. I’ll kill him. When everything stops turning around.</p>
<p>I feel Cass’ agitated breath against my mouth, still very close to my face. He made me eat it. That, I am thankful for. You are a true friend, dud, but damn, you’re a beast. It was extremely violent. And despite the nausea and anger, some tenderness grows in me. I would also do anything, whatever, for my family. Cass has become part of it. Cass, the angel that took me out of Hell. The one who betrayed his people for me, the one who comes when I most need help.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I can’t take my hands off of his face, nor my eyes off of his mouth, it is there for me, right? I didn’t know that what I did would give me this greed. It is too strong a sensation, I don’t know how to manage it. Dean has relaxed his expression, and keeps his eyes closed, his head leaning lazily on my fingers, slightly upwards, like offering himself. The idea makes me crazy. I need him, I need to take him. I don’t really know how.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Some insecure lips press against mine. They just press, shaking, and they slowly rub following the shape of my mouth. I don't know why I stay still, or why I don’t open my eyes. I think I need human heat. I feel their texture, and the tingling they leave behind. Nice. I open my lips instinctively. Shit, Dean. Those lips copy mine and open as well. Some teeth softly bit my lower lip and pull a little. The rash of heat hits up to the brain and explodes in my pride. I can’t invent any explanation for it. But I close my fists to avoid taking Cass by his hair and pull him closer to me. That’s not happening.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I bring out my tongue and introduce it slowly, letting myself go with instincts, feeling the friction and the change of temperature when it is inside his mouth. I rub the top of his mouth and look for his tongue surrounded by delicious moisture, impregnating my essence everywhere I touch.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fuck, I feel so invaded. God damn it, I can't think, fu—</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Dean moans, it is an amazed, submissive sound, charged with sexiness. The fire in me grows and I pull him closer to me, he shudders, takes me by my hair without control. I press harder on the kiss that has us together and Dean pushes his hip against mine, lowering one of his hands to my bottom imprisoning me against him. Oh my goodness. I kiss him even harder, as if I was devouring him. Dean gives me back the same fury and our mouths start fighting, crashing, licking, biting, penetrating. Kissing. He starts moaning from time to time —animal. I am going crazy. His pelvis rubbing and jerking against mine gets most of my amazed attention. I didn't know that</em>—<em> This heat. Wow, Dean. Do you feel this, too? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I take my hand</p>
<p>               to my fly</p>
<p>                              I open</p>
<p>                                            search</p>
<p>                                                           take out</p>
<p>I guide his hand</p>
<p>                              long fingers</p>
<p>               scorching heat</p>
<p>I teach rhythm</p>
<p>               up</p>
<p>                              down</p>
<p>               up</p>
<p>                              down</p>
<p>               like that</p>
<p>               oh</p>
<p>               like that, baby</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I go to his</p>
<p>               damn fly</p>
<p>                              stuck</p>
<p>               jesus fucking christ</p>
<p>His hand</p>
<p>               helps</p>
<p>awesome</p>
<p>               I let go and hold</p>
<p>                              pressing</p>
<p>               up and down</p>
<p>              </p>
<p><em>Oh, what</em>—<em> For all the</em>—<em> Dean. Keep going, keep going Dean. Dean Dean. </em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Cass                    </p>
<p>Cass</p>
<p>Cass</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>My body explodes in fire and pleasure, sticky spasms and electric currents. The explosion goes to my cells’ core. My God. Intense, so intense. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>                              somE    </p>
<p>                                                                          S</p>
<p>                                                                          U</p>
<p>                                                                          P</p>
<p>                                                                          E</p>
<p>                                                                          R</p>
<p>                                                                          N</p>
<p>                                                                          O</p>
<p>                                                                          V</p>
<p>                                                                          A</p>
<p>                                                                         </p>
<p>COSmOs</p>
<p> </p>
<p>                                                           aM I</p>
<p>                                                                          dEaD?</p>
<p>                                            aM i</p>
<p>                              aLivE?</p>
<p>               Ah— Ah.</p>
<p>I pant</p>
<p>I’m panting.</p>
<p>My body still quivers, soaked in sweat. My clothes stick to my body, and I feel so tired. And so full. Happy. So fucking happy. How simple I am.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, Dean, don’t underestimate yourself”.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Castiel's eyes embrace me with extreme tenderness. His voice is much warmer than usual. I am still hugging him by the neck, and he keeps the one that wasn’t caressing me under my back. I feel so comfortable in this hug. Strange, but comfortable. Familiar. As if this was my place. As if Cass was my place. I blush for the thought —for everything.</p>
<p>Cass smiles slightly, his hair is tangled and his skin sweat-shiny. His deep and soft eyes glow like never before. He is very handsome. But I will never admit I thought it. Damn, he’s so hot.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I am happily surprised that I feel Dean’s insides again. He is calm as I haven’t felt him in so long. Certain doubt is hovering in his thoughts, but it doesn’t blur the marvelous astonishment that he is feeling. I am so happy, so close to him. A thrilling connection, it was extraordinary. I feel an overwhelming love. Dean. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>A siren breaks the air in two with its loud sound. Once, twice, three times. Hell. Fucking Hell. I look to my right, don't tell me Freckly was there all the time.</p>
<p>But there's no one. The place where we left her is empty. A part of me is infinitely relieved, God, thanks, I don’t have to cut my own hands. I also discard the thought that I just had sex on a pile of tormented souls. I put it aside. I said I fucking ignore it.</p>
<p>The other part of me is filled with panic. Screw the zen-like state I just got.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I replace my clothes while I stand up and wipe the humor that Dean left in my hand. The siren is a call, but I don't know what for. Did anything happen or is it just a simple procedure that they usually have on the train? Has it anything to do with the kid not being with us?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It may seem ridiculous but where the hell can I clean my hand? I dismiss the bodies under ourselves, I dismiss my jacket. The hem on Cass’ trench coat will be. Take your responsibility, I think smiling mischievously. So what? It will be clean in a few moments.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>We listen behind a pile of boxes, the train workers have met in the third wagon for the siren. One who seems the boss says there is a notice that a group of intruders has broken into the underworld and that they have to increase supervision. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Damn it! I hoped we could have a little more time. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I study the enemy meeting in the wagon. A surprise attack is not viable, Dean is weak and there are even more demon passengers in other wagons. I see the guilty look that a couple of demons give to each other. I look at Dean, who nods to say he saw it too.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>When the meeting is dissolved, we follow this couple to their positions, in a wagon closed with copper plates. The she-devil, who has a glass eye, opens a barrel and takes out our kid by the hair. Freckly (I still don’t get used to that name) doesn’t make any sound, but her face wrinkles in pain. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“What are we doing with this now?” says the other one, a demon with a stupid expression. “We will have it.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Fuck, I can't give up everything we could gain if we sold her as contraband.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“But they're looking for her.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Of course they're looking for her, you idiot! Something like this doesn’t leave its owner just because.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“But I don't get it. They said that there were intruders, that they even killed a high-ranking demon.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Bullshit! That is being said to mask information. Think a little, what if the rabble knew that a candy like this is on the loose in inferior levels? Everyone would want it to themselves, there would be no way to find her.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>We are lucky that the inhabitants of Hell are so wary, treacherous and selfish. They will never trust anyone, let alone their bosses. We could go, follow our way and leave Freckly with them, but I know Dean wouldn’t let that happen. Neither would I. She has become a partner now. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I leave my hiding place and get closer to them with my blade in my hand, and then she stares at me. Yes, at me.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Stop!” She points her spear at me, decided.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“What happens?” The other one asks looking at her firmly, it is clear that he can’t feel anything.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><em>“Don't you see it, you redneck? That, that</em>—<em> Light,” she pronounces the word terrified. “Damn it, it is that fucking glass eye. They told me it was like diamond, that it could tear the veil. And I won it in a bet.” </em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I stay still, she does the same, but in a moment she will react and attack. We lost our surprise factor, but we will finish them quickly. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Sound the alarm, you asshole!” She shouts. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>The idiot one stares at a handle on the wall just nine feet away from him. Shit. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I pounce, and the she-devil does the same. The other one has jumped, too, and his hand is about to catch the handle, but it flies up towards the ceiling because it has just been severed by Dean’s machete.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Don't fucking ignore me!” I hear his say as he gets out of his hiding place, running to the other demon, who is holding his stump. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>She attacks with her spear, I stop her with my blade and see how Dean targets the dude's knees, making him fall down to the floor and taking him away from the alarm.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I avoid another feint and form a metallic lightning in the air. The spear keeps me away and I can’t attack, my blade is too short to fight at this distance. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Now Dean and the demon are struggling on the floor, the creature has a short sword in the hand he has left, and Dean blocks it with the demon-killing knife.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She delivers another blow, more and more accurate each time, but I can dodge it. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Dean makes the enemy’s weapon fly but he loses his own and they roll on the floor in a bout of fisticuffs. The knife is far away, in a corner. He is disarmed, and I know he’s sicker than he shows. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>A flame crosses my chest, from the left shoulder to the last rib on my right side. Blood splashes out of the wound. Her spearhead has reached me, I was distracted. Again. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She gains confidence and gets closer, uncovering a flank, and I stab my angel blade up to the handle. The she-devil falls hopelessly and I run to my partner, cringing in pain for the wound. But he just stabbed the demon’s throat and he is tiredly standing up. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Cass! Are you OK?” He says taking me by the shoulders.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I don’t know,” I pant. It hurts a lot, burns —there is something unhealthy about it. I bend down and fall on my knees.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Freckly appears by our side looking at us with no expression, holding out the spear head which is covered in something that seems tar. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Poison,” I hiss. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“What?” Dean exclaims, pale.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I lean on some boxes, covering the wound with my own trench coat, and I give him the jar containing Sam.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“You have to go, Dean,” it is very difficult for me to talk, I am dizzy. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“What the fuck?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I plant two fingers on his forehead and fill his memory with the maps of Hell that I own, letting them go without an order, abruptly, as if filling a bag with papers that don’t fit and then pushing more and more just to put even more papers. Please, Dean, don't collapse.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He falls back, stumbling, a hand on his head and his expression looks like a grenade has just exploded in his ear.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“What are you doing?” He manages to say. “You didn’t have to use your magic.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“It doesn’t matter anymore, Dean,” I stand up difficultly hanging on to some junk. “They are coming.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>The sound of demons’ feet, running and jumping from other wagons towards us becomes audible.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“But why?” He asks. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Cass, why are they coming? Why did you use your magic? Why are you giving me this information? Why are you telling me to leave without you?</p>
<p>Why do you leave me alone?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“There is no time, Dean,” I turn around to confront the demons that are about to appear, forsaking him and hoping that he jumps out of the window. We are going over a river right now.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>He holds me by my shirt collar and turns me towards him violently. He shouts at me from a few inches away, showing his teeth. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Like hell, there is no time! What the fuck is going on?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Stubborn Dean. Bad time to show that shade. But I must answer, otherwise he won’t leave and everything will go to Hell, literally. I put my thoughts in order in the blink of an eye to be efficient within the few minutes that I have left to feed his understanding necessity.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“The symbol that we engraved in our chests not only serves the purpose of finding the homecoming portal, but also sealed our essence's true form —like a disguise that combines with eating something from down here,” I put my trench coat away letting him see the spear's wound, which crosses breaking the symbol. “Now I am shiny as a galaxy in an underground cave. And I can't rebuild the tattoo because I am going to take very long healing the wound thanks to the poison.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Dean lets me go, slowly, looking at the cut on my chest and my eyes intermittently. He is shaken, but he understands. Of course he understands. He takes a step away from me, looking at me from head to toe. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>It can't be. You can’t mean that— I HAVE to leave you. Here. With them. Leave you behind. That I leave you behind. ME, Dean Winchester.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I push the demons that try to enter through the wagon doors with a wave of energy, they fly back. I won't be able to do it not even three more times because I am intoxicated. I look at Dean willing to launch him through the window the same way, but he has taken Freckly in his arms and his figure shapes up through backlighting against the window. He is standing on it, looking at me, his free hand holding on to the frame. I can’t see his face, but I think I see some glow on the corner of his eye. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He jumps. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>I cough to spit all the unhealthy water that I swallowed when I fell in the river. We are on the shore, Freckly and I, panting, tired for all the swimming we had to perform to hit land. I see blood stains on the floor —it's mine. I’m coughing water and a lot of blood. I clean my mouth on my sleeve, my hand is shaking. I don’t know whether it is for this overwhelming discomfort or for the strong wrath I’m feeling. I look at the bridge where the railway is, behind me. The sky is bright scarlet, as if it was dawn in this place without a sun. The train is long gone, following its path.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Freckly fixes her clothes and is about to put her veil back on, but before she does it, I speak, and she looks at me with her pale eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why—?” I hold my anger, but a blaming tone slips away, “Why the heck did you separated from us?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Undaunted, she looks in her rags. She reaches out her fist. I crouch to be at her height, and her faded fingers open up to reveal what is in her pal. A black berry.</p>
<p>My world closes up on me.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. MY APOCALYPSE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>I am so numb. They mix poison between beatings to stop me from healing or using my strength. I don’t know how I am going to get out of here. Some have tried to get inside my head and their brains have exploded. There is a way of taking all the information from an angel, but they don’t know it, so Sam and Dean’s mission is safe with me. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>It would be terrible if I couldn’t go back to Heaven and had to stay here forever, being punished, but I would be able to bear it. I am a soldier. What I can’t bear is the thought of Dean out there, with a way ahead of him, a heartbreaking way to be alone. Too much to be dying. He started dying long ago. It will be my fault that they both give in, Sam and he, and the girl.   </em>
</p>
<p><em>Thanks to the route by train we shortened the way, but not enough for my friend’s body and mind to resist until the exit. It would be very surprising if he resisted without the elixir until the Styx lake and then get out through the great tree. But even if he could</em>—<em> The desert, with his vast extension and no reference to orient himself? And the creatures that live there, lurking, without my protection? </em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Dean, where are you now? Are you still alive? With Sam? The girl's company comforts you? Do you still tell what's reality? Can you walk? I am so sorry. I left you in the most hostile place of creation with no tools. You will be marching to a slow and painful death, whatever you do. And I won’t be able to hold your hand, to steal your last gaze, to give your heart a breath of hope. You will fall in the darkness alone, desperate. Hating.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><em>Dean, the precious outbreak that colored my foggy time</em> <em>. </em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Hell is not what they are doing to me, or what awaits me. It is the certainty of what awaits you here. Of what awaits the world with Lucifer. I failed.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">I am hitting him and I feel nothing. I beat that scoundrel until I am out of breath. After it, I beat him some more. I lean on the torture instruments table to take a breath. I haven't let all my wrath go yet, and I never will, but looking at the bleeding mash on the floor gives me some kind of satisfaction. Fuck you. It’s either you or me. And it's going to be me, always. I feel superior. I feel full. I had completely forgotten the taste of those emotions. Pain, anguish, fear, all that is over. Everything. Dean is over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="u">The bleeding mash on the floor starts to build up again, slowly. I watch expectantly, the bones first, then the red flesh that slithers and attaches to them, then skin appears. It’s miraculous. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of watching it. I have to beat it again. Alastair takes me by the shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">“Calm down, Dean, calm down. There are other ways.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">“I know, you bastard.”</span>
</p>
<p>Freckly pulls from my sleeve. I can’t see her face because it is completely covered by black rags, but I imagine she is looking intensely at me with her neutral expression. I keep putting a foot in front of the other.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don't grow impatient, Sam. There is no much left.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was long ago when I started talking to him as if he could hear me.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Pff. The nerd talked.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And some hours ago when I started talking as if he was answering.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No. I’m sure it's this way. Who's the one who has Cass’s maps, huh?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cass.</p>
<p>I shake my head.</p>
<p>I don’t know why am I talking out loud this way. I thought it was to keep my mind busy, to keep that guilty feeling away. That hatred. But it's useless because all I do is filling me with the same hatred and guilt that I already feel. Same thing I am feeling since as far as I can remember. At the schools we went. In the motels with little Sammy. In the Impala with our father. In the alleys where I started making love. I am disgusting, so disgusting.</p>
<p>I suddenly cough —I have to stop until it passes because it brings a huge pain on my chest. I star walking again, staggering.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You won't get too far with that attitude. You know that, don't you?” Sam is walking by my side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I take the jar containing his soul for a second and I see it keeps glowing with the same strength. Awesome. Now my brother has become my invisible friend.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You are going nuts,” he points out shrugging with his innocent gaze, as if meaning it is not his fault.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you really have to be a pain in the ass even when you don’t exist?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Admit you missed me,” he smiles with a certain air of a know-it-all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not going to argue with an illusion.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jerk.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bitch.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I stop at a crossroad, what I was looking for. It is the classic post with arrow-shaped signs nailed to it. I need to find a specific name so I try to focus on the letters. It is difficult to fix my gaze in an exact point for a while —my sight get blurry and my head starts hurting. I rub my eyes with my fingers —come on, it's not that big of a deal, Dean, it's just some freaking signs.  I get back to it and make it now: «Heart», «Croatoan», «The kids are alright», «Salvation», «No rest for the wicked». Why is it so familiar? They are chapters of Chuck’s novels. Fucking chapters of our life. There is no trace of the direction I’m looking for, the one which should appear in any of these fucking signs.</p>
<p>A snake climbs up the post slithering through the signs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dean, yessss. Winchester, yesss. And Ssssam.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I take one hand to the pocket in my jacket which contains Sam, protecting him. Freckly, behind me, peeps out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And hisssss pet.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I threaten it with the demon-killing knife head-high:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where is the City of Servils?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Winchessssster. They can’t sssssay pleasssse.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’d better stayed in your hole today,” Sam says supporting my agressive tone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where do you thhhink the ccccity issss?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I have no time for riddles, I am cutting its head off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You have, yessss. Time, yesssss.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I doubt for a second, surprised. Not only can it see me, but it also reads my mind. But it doesn’t seem interested in sounding the alarm. Considering the beasts in the underworld can perceive us, even though demons can’t, I understand this is an infernal animal which, for any reason, can talk.</p>
<p>It makes a gesture with its head suggesting I have to search through the signs. Damn it, extra goddamn effort again. I look at them, still paying attention to the snake, just in case it jumps out to bite. The names get blurry and others appear in their place, all of them seem chapter names.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sam, you’re the smart one,” I say sighing with frustration and a little sarcasm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dean, I’m inside your head.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, so now it’s my fault that you can't solve the riddle?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sam rolls his eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Freckly pulls from my left hand's little finger. She puts a round object on my palm, it looks like a gemstone. She points at her face, eye-high, over the veil. The crystal eye of the bitch who hurted Cass? I didn’t know she took it.</p>
<p>I take the stone to my eye, not waiting to see any clear because it is a sphere, but to my surprise, I can see through it, as if it was a flat lens. When did is turn unto Dungeons &amp; Dragons?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The post with the signs appears the same, but the snake is not just a snake. Its body continues and becomes a tentacle, which is attached to an unshaped, fat, lumpy, huge body. Kind of like Jabba, but worse —everything here is always worse. It's spotted all along with red eyes, and more tentacles get out from it, each one ending on a huge mouth with thousands of teeth. Each mouth is positioned on one of the ways that emerge from the crossroad, except for one which is free. All the bug and its tentacles are attached to the earth by giant hooks nailed to its skin. It doesn’t seem to be able to move. I walk to the free path, Freckly glued to my side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, that’ssss not it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I ignore it and walk faster.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Damn it, Sam, we don’t have all day.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah,” my brother hurries towards us, he had stayed lost reading.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The freak.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>“Oh, so now it’s my fault that you can't solve the riddle?”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>They are taking me on foot. The news that there is an angel in Hell have spread like wildfire, and some big shots have demanded my custody. It seems that bureaucratic battle has been won by Baal, Great Duke, because we were at his domains’ boundaries. I don’t know much about him, just that he commands several legions and, on Earth, they represent him with three heads: one of a cat, one of a king and the last one of a toad. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>We are on a gravel path. I am surrounded by a platoon of around fifty demons sent by him, and considering what I can hear, they are led by a lieutenant that rides a Percheron at the forefront. I am wearing a helmet that doesn’t let me see, but I am sure I am in the center of the group. They surround me not only so I don't escape, but also in case they are attacked by any other troupe. For what they are commenting, it seems likely that the other dukes make any movement violating the sentence.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>As soon as I knew they were taking me out on the path, hope came back to me. I am going to escape. I don’t know how, but this has to be the moment, there won't be another one. I am hoping one of those dukes takes the first step, attacks a flank, breaks ranks. And when they are slicing each other’s throats, the angel will sneak out like a lizard among the rocks. Yes, I am poisoned, big nails cross my legs and arms, keeping me away from running, and my eyes are covered by this darn iron. But my determination is unbeatable. Either I escape, or they will have to kill me right here. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">“No, please, please!” The woman begs me broken-faced with fear. I smile just with one side of my mouth. I lift her face taking her by her chin, and I make her look me in the eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">“Baby, it'll only take a moment. You can do it, you’ll see, show me how long you can bear.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">She looks at the hot knife I am holding. She begins to sob.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">“Shh,” I say slightly touching her ear.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">It is the soul of a really pretty woman. I plan the blade on her cheek and she screams with pain, there remains a long mark that smells of burnt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">“Why do you do this? You are human. Why do you join them?” She whines while I rummage around the table to find another tool. Suddenly, she grows brave, “You are worse than those bastards. How can you do this to your own people? You are the filthiest scum in Hell!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="u">“Honey, you’re falling short,” I answer nailing a punch under her thumb nail</span>-</p>
<p>I am inside a wooden structure. How the fuck did I get here? Another memory lapse. Freckly walks a step ahead, Sam leads the way. Damn it, I guess my instinct is leading me well. We must be in one of Baal's farmhouses. The space is like a huge farm, we go along a balcony on the last floor, a narrow corridor with a handrail which opens to the inside of the building. Like the ones in the theater for shifters.</p>
<p>All the demons are down there, focused on their torture tasks. This place reminds me to a damn livestock farming: the condemned piled up like pigs until it's their turn. The smell of blood and guts is unbearable.</p>
<p>I make a huge effort to hold my cough, it’s not a good moment. Suddenly, I realize I have no idea why we have gotten into one of the farms instead of passing it by on the outside.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And what are we doing here?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The coins, Dean. How many times more are you going to ask?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Damn it, nice humor,” I murmur a little ashamed. How many times have I asked already? “Are you telling me or what?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Charon.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I remain quiet waiting for him to keep going, but it seems my brother is too busy walking to give me more than two words.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sam, don't be a dick.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I hear him sigh, I look at his huge back in front of me, he talks with his intellectual tone:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The boatman on the Styx lake only takes passengers from one shore to the other if he is offered a golden coin each.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Golden coins? We don’t have any.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bingo.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I think for a while and then talk:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Cass had them?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, I guess Cass kept some for the way back.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I clench my fists so hard I hurt myself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“According to the maps that Cass gave you and the notes he made, I deduced we can find something we can use as payment here.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then, an hullabaloo starts downstairs and even surpasses the unbearable noise there already was. I look down and see a group of demons trying to subdue a she-devil. She hits and kicks so hard that five demons can't hold her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bastards! Motherfuckers!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A demon hits her with a hammer on her temple and she falls down groggy, two demons lift her by the shoulders. A fat, stinky, dolled up she-devil slaps her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What is all this fuss about? After all your shitty mistakes, be thankful that we are still giving jobs to you. Your filthy report will cost you only a few weeks on the rack, then you can go back to Earth. Be thankful, you idiot. Your defiance will ruin you, Meg.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Meg? The Meg we know? The one who gave us so many headaches? The one we exorcised at Bobby's house?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Suddenly, Freckly pulls towards the wall: a Dogo-sized spider has bitten her hand and tries to drag her to the ceiling. With an astounding speed, I stab it in the head, the bug shakes spasmodically and stops moving, but it doesn’t let Freckly go. Sam and I try to open its claws but, all of a sudden, the spider becomes stone, and the areas touching its legs, too. It remains transformed into a statue, attached to the wall. Freckly’s hand is totally trapped in the rock. Freckly pulls, but can’t get free. While Sam watches, I hit with the knife trying to break the rock, matching with the blows downstairs. But no. Freckly is completely trapped.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I go a few steps away to watch it from another perspective. I look around, down, up. Nothing. There’s nothing. I can't go down there to get a hammer. I am starting to lose my shit. Me. I pass my hand against my mouth trying to breathe. Sam looks at me with anguish. I look back at Freckly, who is still uselessly pulling making no sounds. I exchange a look with my brother. OK, alright.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I approach and crouch by her side, I hug her with my free hand, pressing her tenderly against me. I give her all the love I am able to remember in a place like this. Her little body is warm, and I feel her heartbeat. I look for Sam again and he nods slightly giving me strength. I manage to put a lovely smile so that it gets to my voice, I whisper on her ear over the black tulle veil:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Relax.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And with a fast movement, I cut her little wrist.</p>
<p>She grimaces but makes no noise. I take her stump arm and press it against my jacket, which gets soaked in blood in seconds.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Shh.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I hide the kid pulling her to my chest and I softly rock her back and forth, back and forth. I look at Sam, he clenches his jaw even more and looks down. Freckly holds my shoulder nailing her fingers with the little strength she has, her head on my chest, shuddering weakly. Tears run down my cheeks, I still smile:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s OK, everything is alright.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I look up and bit my lower lip. I thought there was nothing that could terrorize me more than what I already did in Hell during ten years.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But cutting off a kid’s hand—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sammy puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it supporting me. I stop the tears and sniff. I hold Freckly and go back to my way carrying her on my arms, my gaze fixed on some point in front of me.</p>
<p>I'm not able to look at Sam.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Metallic squeaks cracking, shouts and a lot of boots hitting the ground.  That is what I can hear when I wake up. I can’t see anything yet because of the closed helmet on my head, and I feel the stinging of the poisoned nails on my arms and legs. How long have I been unconscious? I think its just a few minutes. When the attack started and the soldiers began to kill each other, somebody speared me from the back, trespassing my right shoulder blade and nailing it to the ground. The shock was so huge that I couldn’t help passing out. But If they think that way they will stop me from running away, they are so wrong. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I arduously lean on the staff of the spear —lucky me, it’s wooden. My left arm isn't responding correctly, so I use it to hold the handle close to my chest, and my left arm thuds a little forward, focusing all the energy in one spot. And it breaks. My legs bend for the pain of the hit and I fall on my knees hitting the ground with my head wrapped in the helmet. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I listen against it, the wooden pole still through my chest, trying to take a breath. The sounds remain the same, it doesn’t seem anyone is getting closer to me. They are too busy fighting to pay attention to what the stuck, poisoned angel is doing.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I need to take off he bloody iron helmet, I can’t run away blinded. Despite the huge amount of toxins that run through my body, adrenaline helps me clear my mind and sharpen my senses.  I listen, estimate my enemies’ distance and clear spots. I smell, place the bigger amount of blood in some areas, surely where some corpses have just fallen. And my instinct, of course, verifies which is the most favorable place for me between all these. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I crawl to go as unnoticed as I can, I move slowly between legs and back-heels, dust and oozing blood, fallen corpses and useless stabs in the air. A surprised shout comes from my left:</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“The fucking angel!”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Some huge arms take me by my neck and drag me backwards, I try to let go but it seems impossible. The demon, whoever it is, murmurs: </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Fucking bastard.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>And then, fifteen feet away, there is an explosion. The sound and vibration of air, earth, exploding bodies, dust and rocks are flying in all directions. I fall backwards, the pain in my chest is unbearable when the spear hits the ground. My mouth fills with blood, but I’m free. The demon has fallen face-up, and I am on him. He doesn't move, maybe some splinter has left him unconscious, or dead. A persistent bleep is deafening my ears, and I lost balance, but I am free. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I test the ground and get myself a short sword. I slither on the ground. From all my senses, I only have my touch and my instinct, and I follow it. I go straight on, stop, turn right, forward. The dust on the floor gets in my teeth and up my nose, the taste of blood in my throat makes my tongue go lumpy. My nails break on the rocks and the ground. But the angel, the fucking angel is going to evaporate in front of their damn noses.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>All of a sudden, an icy chill runs up my spine. Such a dark sensation. Something is about to happen, something terrible. Dean's image comes to my mind —smiling, leaning on the Impala’s bonnet with a beer in his hand, with the big blue spring sky at his back. Heavens, no. It can't be. Don't tell me</em>—</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why am I running? My legs sting terribly, I’m out of breath for the effort, I trip at every step. For God’s sake. But Freckly runs by my side, holding my hand, not looking back. And Sam goes on the front, looking at me and signing to move faster. Please, I can’t go on, I can’t. You go, Sam, damn it. I don't know why you need me. Leave me here.</p>
<p>I fall down an embankment, the kid lets go of my hand and rolls as well, but she keeps better balance. I slam against the floor and get hit as a thrown potato bag.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I can’t stand up. I stay on the floor, face down, taste of blood in my mouth. My heart is about to explode. It will stop suddenly, it can’t be otherwise. Freckly pulls my jacket collar. I’m sorry, kiddo. Go with Sam, he’s good at this. Actually, he’s better than me. He won't let anything happen to you.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She looks in the direction we came from, then she looks at me and runs away in the opposite direction. Sam, go with her, why aren't you moving?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The elixir, Dean. The drops. There were some drops left.” He rushes me very anxious. “Damn it, take it out, Dean.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What the fuck are you saying? It's in my pocket, so far away. Why don’t you take it? But my brother just shakes me and shouts at me —how fucking noisy he is. Everything is black, I don’t know if I closed my eyes or I just lost my sight. I just want to rest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dean!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alright, I’m coming, damn it. I make a huge effort, the biggest one I’ve ever made. Even bigger than that time I won that hot-dog-eating contest and we got free fucking hot dogs for a week. Of course, I was so full I didn't use the offer. Story of my life.</p>
<p>My arm moves sorely, I feel my muscles shaking, cracking with each bending and distension. I drag my hand on the denim fabric, my skin hurts as if it was being peeled off with contact —maybe that's what happens. And, hardest of all, I rummage with my index and thumb in the pocket. I am sweating for the effort, I pant. It’s so difficult for me to stay focused so that my muscles move. Damn it, my head. I hear a buzzing as loud as if bombs were falling. My brain is beating against my skull to broke it. I am going to blow up.</p>
<p>I take back my hand up, towards my mouth. It’s so shaky that I fear I will let the bottle fall. I put it against my teeth and puff. A stopper. Dude.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“C’me on, Dean! Open it!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goddamn it, how insistent. Hell, I can’t. But I bite it, I pull with my hand. It's so lame. I pull —God, all the ligaments in my arm and hand must be braking with effort. The little bottle is free of the stopper which I let fall to the ground opening my lips. I hold the bottle vertically, the opening on my tongue, waiting for gravity to do the job, because I am out of resources. So what now? They are just a few drops, just a few fucking drops, Sammy. Those drops that usually never fall. Damn it, I told you, all that effort, for what?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wait, hold on,” Sammy sticks to his guts. Teardrops are leaving his eyes. I don’t see any problem, I just want to rest. I don’t care how.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A slight sensation on my tongue, a fresh, intense taste. I swallow. Everything goes away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A hotel room. Sam and I arguing. Ruby has just left us, there are just a couple of days left until Lilith breaks the last seal. My brother is a damn demon blood junkie and I have gone to talk to him as my last resource to make him think straight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don’t know what you’re doing, Sam.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, I do,” he is totally convinced that he’s right. That there is a logic explanation for his actions. That he has chosen Ruby over his family for a good reason. But Sam, in the end, has always hated this family. Sammy always chooses the rest. Never his old brother.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Then that’s worse!” I spit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why? Look, I’m telling you—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Because it’s not something you’re doing!” I stop him. “It’s what you are! That means—” I can't go further. I have lost him, right? Forever.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” My brother asks when he understands where I’m going. His voice breaks, there is anger in his eyes, and pain. A lot of pain. “No.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>«Don’t you dare say it», his look says. I look down and keep quiet. My soul is breaking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Say it,” Sam challenges me.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It means you’re a monster,” the most cruel words I have said in my entire life. And my voice doesn’t shake when I pronounce them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I open my eyes and a coughing fit comes with iron taste. Where the heck is Sam? He has just hit me, right? We argued and he beat me. He just left even though I told him not to come back ever again if he did it. God, what have I done? I am like a fucking raging bull, sweeping away everything with its horns no matter what it is. My only family. What am I going to do now? Sammy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sam bends down beside me and helps me sit up, where I remain sadly. My brother is back? It is too dark to be the hotel room, and there is wind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re filthy,” he says with an ironic, lovely and worried tone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s your fault.” it is terribly difficult for me to talk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Whatever. Can you stand up?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a huge effort, I get to stand on my legs. How can everything hurt so much? It is not the hits —I feel sick, extremely sick. I feel so dizzy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We have to find Freckly,” my brother says. He is talking to me normally, he doesn’t seem to remember the huge fight we just had. I feel totally misplaced.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Who?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dude,” he makes that look when I get him desperate. “You’re kidding, it was your idea to bring her.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I would shrug if it didn't hurt me, so I just arch my brows.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The kid. The kid, Dean!” Sam sighs, he is really getting on his nerves. “Look, it’s OK, just humor me. I don’t have time to explain, alright? She went that way, you must find her.” He points to a place in the distance that looks like a grove in the poor light of the night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you’re in such a hurry, why don’t you go?” I respond on the defensive. I hate when I don’t get it, and I hate even more when people talk to me as if I was dumb. Damn it, sometimes they are so hard on me just because I didn’t finish the last year of elementary. I was hunting ghosts, for your information.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can't go by myself, you must come with me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sam is weirder than usual, but regarding the pain on my temples I don't want to keep arguing, so I start walking dragging my feet. Why is it so hard? Why do I feel this thirst? It’s like I hadn’t drunk in years.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She didn’t want to leave you here, but she had no choice. Don't you remember how those demons started following us? They realized Freckly was a kid and they jumped like vultures. Since they couldn’t see us, she left you so they wouldn’t find you. Dean, that girl sacrificed herself for you and you don’t remember?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I don’t get even the half of what he's saying, it’s fucking madness. I believe he lost his mind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Freckly?” I murmur. “What kind of asshole puts that name to a kid”?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sam starts laughing like long before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All of a sudden, we hear something between the weed, I hold my knife. I hold it so weakly that they could sweep it easily. What the fuck is going on in my body? Sam becomes wary, I notice he is unarmed. It is so weird.</p>
<p>And some little thing wrapped up in black rags comes running towards us. A white hand lifts up a veil and a little round face smiles.</p>
<p>A smile. It shakes me from head to toes.</p>
<p>Freckly. She smiled.</p>
<p>She hugs me crashing against me, I’m ashamed of saying it but she makes me stagger. She hugs as hard as she can, which is not much, but it hurts me like hell. But I don’t complain, I hug her back. I was so worried. Damn it, kid. Sam smiles besides me, satisfied:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It seems you're a great amazon, you outsmarted them, huh?” He messes her hair, even though Freckly doesn’t seem to notice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I take her hand and we keep going, very slowly, because I need to stop every two steps to take a rest. But we are close, very close from the fucking river and the fucking boatman. We're almost there, almost there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. ALL NIGHTMARE LONG</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>I puff leaning on a rock, I let myself slip until I am sitting on the floor. I am not sure how far I went because I am still disoriented, and I can’t hear well yet, but something tells me I have a few moments to take a rest. I take the spear nailed on my right side and wait for a moment until the huge pain mitigates. Then, with the short sword, I hit the helmet's lock on the back of my head. The nails in my arms are pierced by every move I make, but I give more strength to the blows and the nails get out of my muscles like worms from an apple, falling to the ground tinkling but I don’t hear it. I finally get freed from the helmet, the faint light blinds me for a moment. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I take the nails out of my legs and lean my head on the rock, taking a breath and trying to calm the whirl of vertigo that still threatens my temples.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I take the sword by its handle again, breathe and cut my neck piercing my jugular. Blood starts running constantly. I do the same to my femoral artery, in the groin. The infected plasma leaves my body with a blackish color, watering the red sand. I gasp ignoring my body's howl, my sight lost in the sky.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I am totally defenseless right now: I’m weak, bleeding, poisoned, with no cover or disguise. Any demon could notice me and it would find me here almost dying, without blood in my body, and my heart just whispering. Not until the poison has left my system will my blood stop going out because my veins won't close. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The bleeding will stop first, and the most important injuries will heal, and the invisibility symbol on my breastbone will be next. Once this happens, I will breathe  calmly again if I am conscious throughout the process. I risked everything on one throw, but it is the only thing I can do. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I close my eyes trying to calm down, listening more and more precisely, trying to feel if anyone is coming. I just hear far explosions and the sound of dry wind.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Am I going to be that lucky during all the necessary time to get fixed? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>My head becomes blurry, for the blood loss. I don’t want to pass out, I can’t allow myself to do it. Hold on, Castiel, you are a soldier.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Everything turns black.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">My torso is completely torn, I am hanging from hooks that are nailed on my wrists. Alouqua enjoys licking my bleeding muscles, like a Popsicle. The pain is so big I am going crazy. I don’t have a physical nervous system that allows me to disconnect and pass out. I can’t lose consciousness. There is no mercy in this hole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u"> Alastair comes in through the door. Shit. Not a double session, please. Separately, they are already atrocious, but together— Not today, please, I can’t take it anymore. I swear, I reached my limit today. But there’s never a limit. I always think the same. Every day, I think I can't go further, that there won’t be anything worse. But there's always more. And I always hold, because I can’t die. Because all the fucking pieces come together again and again, and if there's any missing it will be created from nothing. It doesn’t matter whatever they do to me, because there will always be another chance, and another —it will never end. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">“Dean, what do you think about the needles?” The bastard says smiling calmly. “I brought a box full of them”</span>
</p><p>Then, something hits me on my front. I breathe on that hardness, some dust raises. It is dirt. Covered in ashes. Am I on the floor? Did I fall down? The pain of the huge needles is still running through my body. I touch my chest, my stomach. Not even one. Did they take them off? I don’t remember. I am shaking. God, all that pain.</p><p> </p><p>I start coughing, spitting blood. I am soaked in cold sweat. I am so cold. I look around, it is blurry, but it looks like a grayish esplanade, I can hear the water running some point forward. Did they take me out of my cell? I sit up, then get on my knees with so much effort. I am so tired. I can't see my executioners, they're hiding, it must be another one of their jokes. They will jump on me at any moment.</p><p>And then he gets closer, Sam? What's he doing in Hell? It’s impossible, it must be one of those sadistic’s jokes. It isn’t Sammy. He comes with a girl dressed in black and a lifted veil, a girl with very light eyes. Freckly. Why do I know her name? But I saw her before, that girl and I have went through a lot together. I put my hand in my jacket’s pocket, there is something rounded in it. I press it against me, I don’t know what it is, but it is important. It is the most important thing in this world. And I have to take it to the other shore.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean, it seems Freckly hasn’t seen Cerberus,” Sam’s substitute says. “We can get closer to the lake.”</p><p>
  <span class="u">Alouqua hits absently the needle in my elbow nerve with her index finger. The shake runs through my body</span>
</p><p> </p><p>I fall on my side holding my joint, teardrops leave my eyes. I breathe ashes. God, make it stop.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean, it isn't real! Dean!” A faraway voice, my brother's.</p><p> </p><p>Someone pulls from my shoulder. Alastair, Alouqua? They are subtle, desperate pulls, but there is no cruelty on them, they are little hands.</p><p>
  <span class="u">“Dean” Alastair’s scratchy voice</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“Dean!” My brother's voice.</p><p> </p><p>«You have to stand up», my voice. «Stand up and go to that fucking shore.» I can’t, shit, I can’t-I-can't-I-can’t.</p><p> </p><p>“I only want you to know that I am so proud of you,” my father’s voice the day he sold his soul for me.</p><p> </p><p>His look.</p><p>My hand moves. It leans shaky on the floor. It pushes up and my side lifts up. My other arm crawls until my elbow is on the ground. I look in front of me, I drag my knee on the floor and pushing with my thigh, I move my hip forward. I advance a little. I bend that knee again and use the same leg to push me forward, slithering, securing myself with my arms. Another step. I puff. My look fixed on the shore.</p><p>
  <span class="u">Alastair twists a needle that reaches my hippocampus. It shakes me</span>
</p><p>but I go on. Forwards. The shore</p><p>
  <span class="u">one of them stings on my neck, in my trapezius, moving</span>
</p><p>I spit blood, but go on</p><p>
  <span class="u">a needle trespasses my eardrum</span>
</p><p>forwards</p><p> </p><p>“Dean!” The faraway voice of my brother makes my turn around.</p><p> </p><p>A monstrous shape comes at high speed, I think I hear growls coming from it, but not clearly. Sam shouts something like— Cerberus? They gave me to the biggest dog in Hell? It doesn't seem so inhumane. The huge shape becomes clearer, it overshadows me—</p><p>And I have to close my eyes, because a burning brightness is blinding me. I feel heat on my cold bones, on my devastated skin. I think I died.</p><p> </p><p>One, two, three. My heartbeat.</p><p> </p><p>I open one eye. </p><p>Castiel’s jaw. His face almost on mine. He is leaning on my back, an arm over my shoulders and a leg over mine, covering me. And around him, there is such a painful shining that I can’t even look directly at it.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” says seriously his raspy voice.</p><p> </p><p>Cass.</p><p>My mother and her sentence about angels.</p><p> </p><p>He gets up and helps me get on my feet, fast, precise. Castiel.</p><p>As I can't hold myself, he makes me lean on his shoulder and take me by the hip. I look at the shape that must be Cerberus, it is going back growling with mistrust, and not losing sight of us. Then suddenly my eyes focus.</p><p>The lord of hellhounds, with three gigantic heads, one of them drooling and chewing on a girl. The lower half of her body is completely swallowed while the top gets out through the jaws, uselessly hitting with her arms the teeth that keep her captive. Her blood runs down the beast's jaw and her terror expression is overwhelming.</p><p>No.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I failed. I failed the kid. Cerberus is confused, the vision of my wings disoriented him, but it won’t be long until he comes for us again. In a millisecond, I calculate the chances of leaving from here alive that we have. I none of them is rescuing Freckly. We can’t confront the lord of all demon dogs, not in our state, not without the time we already haven’t. I remained hidden throughout the way here, but now, having displayed my wings, I gave us away again. All the damned Hell will know where we are by now.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I go away walking to a side, looking at Cerberus and dragging Dean to the shore. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The lord of hounds chews a little more and the kid’s blood falls. Her eyes follow us while we walk away, her mouth widely open. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>My soul is tearing apart. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Kaysa” Freckly murmurs with blood in her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>She crosses me with her eyes, so clear, so open, she won’t look away from me, attaching me to her as if that bond could keep us together.</p><p> </p><p>“Kaysa!” She screams.</p><p> </p><p>The ruthless jaw opens and the tongue drags her in, the jaws close again on her little hand which falls on the floor leaving a pool of her own blood.</p><p> </p><p>“Aaaarrghh!” A heartbreaking scream echoes in the open space, I jump to the beast blinded by the rage. I can’t see anything due to the tears.</p><p> </p><p>Strong hands take me by my jacket and pull me back, the opposite way I was going. I kick, I struggle. Hatred. Wrath and hatred. They’re pulling from me, I escape. I run forwards. A crash against my cheek.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I hit Dean on the cheek, he falls down like a dead weight, maybe I hit too strongly.  I don’t know, I was too anxious. I drag him by the collar of his jacket, as if he was a bag, to the shore. I take a rock from the ground and throw it to the lake. Cerberus is still chewing. The silhouette of the boatman appears in the mist of the lake. Cerberus licks its lips.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I take three coins from my trench coat and throw them in the boat, my hand shaking. One for Sam, one for Dean, and the last one for me. Cerberus turns to us and starts walking in our direction, still confused, but growling. I hid my wings and it starts growing brave. I pull however I can to get Dean in the boat and I climb myself in. Charon pushes the shore with his pole and Cerberus covers all the space between us in one jump. His mouth bites the air just three feet away from us, who are already getting lost in the mist.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Faster, shit, faster. The damn boatman is still moving his arms with an impassive slowness. I hold on to the sides of the boat so hard that my knuckles become white. I have Dean on the floor, but he is still breathing. His nose is bleeding due to my punch —I am not sorry. His teeth are stained with blood between his slightly open lips, same as his chin and neck. Bringing my hand to my back I take one of my ethereal feathers, which sheds with a spark that lasts a second. I nail the light in the center of Dean's chest, which absorbs it, and I wait for the filaments that build it to create a patch in his worst injuries long enough.  I don’t know If I arrived in time. I don’t know anything, now I have no fucking certainty.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Just that I would love to pull the bloody boatman's head off. But I can’t. We can't leave a different way than we got in. The door to Hell I created can only be reached the same way. I can’t display my wings and jump in the sky. That I cross all the bloody layers of reality and ether, that I break all the laws in the subtle world. If someone enters Hell through a crack in the wall, if they pay Charon, they will be forced to leave the same bloody way.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>And the kid</em>—</p><p>
  <em>I put that thought away. Cool head. I remind myself what I said at the beginning, when Dean insisted to take her with us: if I had to choose, I am clear about it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And that is what I did —choose. Nobody can blame me for it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Then, why do I feel so miserable?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Dean moves and coughing like hell. He woke up and stained the boat with a bright purple. Cool head, Castiel. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He sits up difficultly. He looks around, his eyes are lost, covered in tears, his mouth confusedly open. And then he looks me in the eye. He asks me. About the girl. He is about to start crying because Freckly isn't on the boat. I am sure he knows what happened, but needs me to tell him. I look down.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Dean screams again with the same wrath as when he jumped against Cerberus. He now jumps towards me and slams me against the side of the boat. The boat rocks dangerously, water lifts up on the sides. Shit.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dean hits me furiously, I cover myself with my arms from that rain of constant blows that fall on my head, chest and stomach. They hurt. But not as much as my broken soul. As he punches me, he screams some incoherent things, some of them I understand. They are insults. That also hurts more than the punches. Because I deserve them.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“You bastard, son of a bitch! What the fuck did you do? Fucking angel! How dared you? Shitty coward!”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The punches begin to slow down becoming weaker and weaker, his voice tears and starts getting lost until he remains silent and I can only hear him sobbing and panting. I uncover myself all aching —even though I could stop some hits, he scored some, but I don’t care. I am not angry with Dean, I am mad at myself. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>Dean is leaning in front of me, his back on the side of the boat and his legs crossed on the floor. One hand is on his chest, maybe it hurts. He looks at me, his chest goes up and down strongly taking big breaths. His eyes are still crying and they nail me on my place. Because there is hate. Behind that pain, there is hate. I stay petrified, everything around me vanishes. There is only panic: Hate? No, please</em>—</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Dean.” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>He looks away, to the sky. He sniffs and stops the tears. He doesn't want to talk to me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The crash against the shore brings me back to reality. I blink a few times and take a breath. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cool head. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I stand up and reach out for Dean, but he slaps it away. He stands up difficultly, holding on to the boat. It is clear that he is in pain when he lifts up his leg to get out of the boar, but I don’t dare to touch him. He lets himself go out of the boat and gets to stand on the ground without falling. He takes a couple of breaths and starts walking forward, shaky. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>My gaze follows him. If we keep this speed they will hunt us right away. There must be some demons on the beach, the ones that were closer. The only thing between them and us is the transaction they will have to overcome to be able to cross the lake. In theory and practice, Charon is the only one who can take beings from one side to the other. And his boat is not so big. The water in the lake absorbs the essence of those who cross other ways, even demons. Because the condemned are not the only ones who would like to get out of Hell —their inhabitants want it, too.</em>
</p><p><em>Now that there is a castaway angel escaping towards the wall, I imagine that the greatest demons will move heaven and earth to find another way to cross the lake.</em> <em> Or so I think. </em></p><p>
  <em>However it is, we can’t move at Dean's snail’s pace.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>I emboldened myself too fast. The few steps I took are already having consequences. The stings and shivers of pain run through my body again. Tiredness begins to take over each one of my fibers reminding me that the adrenaline discharge of a while ago was no more than just fantasy. My sight gets blurry, and that damned beeping in my ears takes its place back. But I don’t care, I clench my jaw and go on. I don't give a fuck about my dying body, I will go on, I will get out of here without that fucking heartless angel. I said so. It’s as sure as my name is Dean Winchester.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean,” Sam is next to me, he has a long face. At least I know he is an illusion, my head is clear all of a sudden. “Dean, I know you’re mad, but—”</p><p> </p><p>“Not a word,” I hiss. “Not even one.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam closes his mouth, he just keeps me company, dismayed.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean.” it’s Castiel this time, to my right. I won't look at him, “we have to go faster. I did a couple of tricks to delay the boatman on this side, but they will come eventually.”</p><p> </p><p>I trip and he holds me. I move aside and I almost fall, but I don't, and go on. Because I said I don’t need his bloody help.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean” he sighs, his voice is deeper than usual, like husky. It even has an anxiety tone on it.</p><p> </p><p>Sam can't help it:</p><p> </p><p>“You're acting like a kid.”</p><p> </p><p>A kid? What would you know? You weren’t taking care of a little girl, you didn’t abandon her in a giant dog’s mouth. Just to save our asses. And your best friend didn't turn out to be the shittiest guy on Earth.</p><p> </p><p>A coughing fit bends me down and I lean on the closest rock. It is so hard that I gag and throw up bile, so bitter. Everything colored in red. I puff against the wall. If I move, my legs will break. When I breathe, it sounds repelling, as if I suffered from pneumonia, bronchitis and all the otorhinolaryngology illnesses together. Jeez! Otorhinolaryngology, don’t dare say I didn’t go to school.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dean's legs and shoulders shake, I don’t think he realizes he has reached his limit. He already reached it on the beach. Even before. The thing I can’t explain is how he is still walking. How didn’t he die. How is he still able to form logical sentences. Once more, he is surpassing my expectations, defying any logic. But even he has a limit. And it is right here. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I feel so ashamed for what I let happen on the other shore. It was not on purpose, I displayed my wings the moment I saw Cerberus jumping onto them. Freckly stood a few feet from Dean, who was on the floor.  I could not save both of them. If I protected the kid, Cerberus would get Dean with one of its heads, and if I chose her, the hound would trap her with other. I also thought about going for the animal and serve them as a shield, but it would have gotten me easily among his heads and then it would have attacked my friends anyways.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So I chose. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maybe Dean will hate me forever. But I have to keep it together. I can't keep dancing to the mercy of his emotions. Cool head, Castiel. You are a soldier and there is a mission to accomplish.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Dean, you are going to listen to me,” I say firmly. I am the pragmatic and loyal angel that everyone knows. “I won’t say I am sorry for what happened with Cerberus. I could not do anything else. I know it hurts you, I know it is unfair, I know she didn’t deserve it. It hurts me, too, but I told you, Dean. I told you it was too risky to cross Hell with her. I hoped to be able to bring her out with us, really, but it wasn't possible.” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I pause, that withered human in front of me, whose right side is the one I can see, doesn’t make anything to stop me.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“It was either you or her.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Dean closes his eyes, as if I had just stabbed his heart.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“You should have chosen her,” his voice is destroyed, not only for his hoarseness. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“No, Dean. No,” I have never said anything so categorically. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He turns his face away from me so I can't see it. He moans. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Kaysa. Her name is Kaysa.” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I nod, even though he can’t see me. I get closer to him and put one of his arms on my shoulders. Dean doesn’t resist even a bit, without a look of reproach or anything similar. His humor changed radically. That is the way humans are. There is no trace of hate —only a huge sadness emerges from him. So deep that it seems an open well to the center of Earth.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For my surprise, I feel relieved, it seems that the fear to Dean’s rejection was in my head. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I walk fast, almost dragging him because he is not able to keep up with my steps. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>We have to climb up the fucking stairs. The ones from the tree with the crappy roots. The one with people hanging. Those stairs.</p><p>My head HURTS.</p><p>EVERYTHING hurts.</p><p>I think if I don’t focus on breathing, my system will just stop doing it.</p><p>I am waiting for Castiel.</p><p>Down in a corner.</p><p>He said that</p><p>               he would clear the way</p><p>                                            up the stairs</p><p>Because there are guardians. The ones from outside, six-foot tall.</p><p>Now there are some of them underground, at the beginning of the stairs guarding so we can’t go out.</p><p>Those stairs.</p><p>Cass comes back for me.</p><p> </p><p>“Clear,” he says unbiased.</p><p> </p><p>He carries me on his back, giving me a piggyback, as if I was a little kid.</p><p>He has blood on his right temple. The smell of iron makes me dizzy.</p><p>As well as sweat.</p><p>Do angels sweat?</p><p>In Hell, they do.</p><p>He ties me to his back with a rope.</p><p>There is noise to our backs. I can’t tell what it is.</p><p> </p><p>“Demons. It will take them a while to go over the barrier. I hope too long, “he explains.</p><p> </p><p>How cool it is that he has telepathy. If I go</p><p>                                                                 crazy</p><p>would he go crazy too when he read my mind?</p><p> </p><p>At the bottom of the stairs, the crappy ones, there are some douchebags on the floor.</p><p>Dead. The six-foot tall guardians.</p><p> </p><p>“Leave me,” I say.</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>I don’t care. Really. I won't make it</p><p>                                                     and you know it</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he repeats.</p><p> </p><p>He crouches down touching the floor with one hand, the other holds me to his back.</p><p>My knees crash</p><p>against the floor</p><p> </p><p>It shakes, the earth. And a sound. A vibration.</p><p>Little stones get lifted. They are jumping.</p><p>The vibration     grows    I feel it  in my cells</p><p> </p><p>Boom Boom Boom</p><p> </p><p>Castiel jumps.</p><p>Argh it hurts       fuck       Cass</p><p> </p><p>We ascend at top speed.</p><p>Stairs my ass.</p><p>Why climbing when you can jump</p><p>               like an elevator speeding upwards</p><p>                                            even though my brain is already in my tongue</p><p> </p><p>I’m half dumb anyways.</p><p>Whatever.</p><p>Cass.</p><p>Why don’t you leave me here?</p><p>what matters is getting Sam’s soul out.</p><p>I left you, in the train.</p><p> </p><p>I would do it again</p><p>for Sam</p><p>and you know it</p><p> </p><p>Argh God it hurts too much stop shit stop</p><p> </p><p>“I am sorry,” but he keeps going up at vertigo-speed.</p><p> </p><p>It gets blurry       my sight              I am dizzy            bastard black</p><p> </p><p>“Dean! Are you with me?”</p><p> </p><p>What the fuck is going on?</p><p> He drags me on the floor. He is panting. From an arm. He's dragging me from an arm. The rest of my body is dealing with the fucking</p><p>stones and dirt</p><p> </p><p>I see the tree, it's going away. The crappy tree. The one with the stairs.</p><p>We're up. In the top level.</p><p>Black shapes, they're coming out from the tree. Pushing, like scared cockroaches. In our direction, getting closer, fast. They scream and run.</p><p>Demons</p><p> </p><p>Cass speeds up. He runs. Faster and faster. Dragging me. My jeans are tattered.</p><p>His strides          </p><p>are bigger          </p><p>and bigger         </p><p>they become</p><p>jumps</p><p> </p><p>and he Jumps</p><p> </p><p>from his back two displaying suns are born</p><p>they open forming two horizontal tongues at his sides</p><p>I close my eyes but feel it</p><p>the shake</p><p>of his flapping wings</p><p>once, twice, three times</p><p>faster</p><p>each</p><p>damned</p><p>time</p><p> </p><p><em>I fly low almost hugging the ground. It is faster. Investing my energy in moving forward, not ascending and advancing. But high enough for Dean to not touch the ground. I lived this once before. But everything was very different back then. The odds were in my favor. Now</em>—</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The sound of demons on our tail is getting closer. Some run, others ride a vehicle or an animal, and a big swarm of them fly: the fallen angels that followed Lucifer. With their poisonous wings that absorb the light from mine. I feel their resentment closer and closer. They hate me. They envy me. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“You and your bloody human.” “You and your fucking Grace.” “You and your incomprehensible love.” “Your light. We want it. We miss it. We will take it from you. We will tear you apart.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I flap my wings faster, quicker. I lost the rope I tied Dean with, but it doesn’t matter. I won't let him fall whatever happens. I know I won’t let him go. It is the only thing I am sure of.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I can't leave you, Dean. Even though your body can't handle it and you die, I will carry it to wherever my strengths take me. Even though you make sure you would abandon me to save your brother, which I know. Even though letting you go would mean succeeding in this mission, in any other. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can’t leave you easily because we are connected. I raise you out of Hell. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dean, my precious blast of colors. I am lucky to have met you. I wouldn’t change a thing even if we succumbed here.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>A cut’s pain scratches my wings. They are throwing knives from the top, those damned demons who once before were my brothers. They are still behind me, but they throw them drawing parables and gravity acts in their favor. I turn and dodge them, and with a quick flap I detach the blades that were nailed in my light feathers. Only scratches. I go upwards strongly, ascending in order to stay away from the same attack.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The higher I go, the less I go forward, and they are aware of it.  Any little advantage they get over me could be the key to their success. I keep straight on now, estimating the distance with a quick look over my shoulder. The demons on the floor don’t bother me, they can’t even dream about reaching my speed and they have already become dots in the horizon. But the winged demons are gaining ground. They show themselves as a huge flock of crows getting closer, relentless, cutting the air with the organic sound of their membranous wings.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>They launch incendiary,explosive, and all kind of projectiles. I dodge, resist, turn. My wings are covered by a layer of vacuum that repels most of the attacks. And they are strong, powerful and fast. Bloody fast. I make an effort, three flaps are enough to gain more ground. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Then I hear the buzz of a projectile over my head and, the very next moment, I see it explode right in front of me, just six feet away. I don’t know how, but I get to tilt my body, getting covered by my left flank and the part of my wing that I just put in the way. I fall inevitably and through all the blood that runs down to my eyes I see Dean held by my fist, inert, but in one piece. I managed to protect him with the ends of my feathers. Although I don’t know if he is still alive. Probably not.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I cover us with my wings in order to cushion the crash against the ground, holding Dean's body against my chest, and I concentrate a vacuum layer around him so it absorb all the impact. I drag for twenty-three painful feet on the ground, scratching the gravel until my body stops half covered by stones. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I feel dizzy. Broken. Upset. But I stand up and start running while holding Dean on my right shoulder, tripping because part of his body is dragging and gets between my legs. My wings hang inert, half folded, and I can't feel one of them —the left one, which I stopped the explosion with. They don’t bleed, because they are not material, but painful currents of darkness are cracking in several points.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>And the first one falls on me with an overwhelming impact, taking me back to the ground. After him, more and more winged demons leap on me beating, spitting, scratching. I build a barricade with my wings, like a bud in which interior I shelter my front, my  bent legs, my head and Dean, of course him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> They stab, tear, bite, cut, bruise, make me exhaust with their hands and teeth, avid. More and more fall, the weight is unbearable, they built a mountain on me, fighting each other to get to the center, digging among the bodies of their partners. And everything I think of is Dean Dean Dean</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Boom boom boom</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The mountain of demons blasts from the inside out making the bodies fly like wood shavings, with a brightness that goes up until it touches the clouds and expands miles and miles to the sides. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I am in the center of that supernova, standing. Holding Dean with one arm, leaning on my right flank. My eyes shine electric blue and I unfold my wings, pristine, unpolluted. The demons that managed to fix their gaze on the tremendous light I give off are looking at  me with a fascinated fright.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I push and jump, flapping the brightness of my back. The demons follow me immediately, but they can't follow me. I get lost in the dense ashy mist of the desert like the flash of a lantern that goes away.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. FADE TO BLACK</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>I observe my brother through the glass window from the hallway. The tubes and needles that go in and out of his body cause distress on me. The screen next to him shows his pulse and some serum bags and medical tools surround his bed, like a fence of metallic trees. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>I sigh and look away to a vending machine on the other side of the corridor. The intensive care unit is calmer than other days, doctors walk down the hallway much more relaxed.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>I buy cold tea and sit in the sterilized waiting room, which is almost empty. How long has my brother been in ICU already? I can’t sleep even when I am staying at Bobby's house, I always have the feeling that I am going to get a phone call telling me it’s over: chained multiple organ failure.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>I lean my head on my hands, exhausted, with my elbows on my knees. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“How is he?”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>I start, Castiel is sitting by my side. I hadn’t seen him again since the day I woke up. He seems tired but recovered, nothing to do with the Castiel I found when I opened my eyes.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Cass,” I say calmly. “I don’t know. The same, I guess.”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Cass has his gaze fixed on the wall in front of him and doesn’t look at me, but he nods lightly. There is a silence where we just wander in our own thoughts. Having Cass next to me comforts me, not because he is an angel, but because he is my friend and both share a deep feeling of discourage seeing Dean like this.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“It is my fault,” he says with his usual categorical tone.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“No, Cass. You did all you could, even more,” I take a breath. “If we are to blame anyone it would be me.” I manage a quick, uneasy, guilty smile.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><strong>“No, Sam. You couldn't do anything to avoid</strong>—<strong>” </strong></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Let's leave it be, okay?” I stop him whispering, anxious. I don’t want to think about it, it makes me feel a tremendous emptiness in my chest that absorbs me towards the most horrendous nothingness.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Lately, I have been remembering a lot of moments that  went through with my brother. Among them, one keeps repeating —our big fight caused by Ruby. Well, caused by me. Also, when I gifted him the amulet that Christmas, when we were kids, where John didn’t deign to appear. He had never taken it off since back then, until recently Cass borrowed it, and I remember Dean's expression —it almost hurt him getting separated from it.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>My older brother has always always broken his back for me, since I long as I can remember. Whatever we had to do, he did it, destroying whatever it took. Sometimes, even me. Lots of times, actually. Most of times.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>How I hated him for that, I still hate him. But I also love him like I never loved anyone, he’s my own family. He raised me up: he was my father, mother and brother at the same time. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>And he is pure mess, stubborn, irresponsible, proud, violent, an intransigent rogue that made out with my graduation ball date without giving a shit about my feelings. A potential criminal who laughed at me and slapped the back of my neck whenever tears came out of my eyes. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>He has been the kid that never had the means to be my father, so he had to improvise. He is the man who couldn’t play, so he acts as a kid. He is the one who looked after me when nobody cared for him, so he never realized his life was worth it.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>That is my brother, Dean Winchester. The one who, despite his rude clumsiness, keeps me in the light side. Because I, without my brother, would become the heartless creature of them all. There is a coldness in me, an impassivity, a calculating selfishness that frightens me the most. It is a sensation that could get me completely detached from my humanity.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>But Dean would never let that happen. What am I going to do if he dies? Who will protect me from myself? Who will slap me whenever I go out of my way? Who will love me unconditionally whatever happens, whatever I do? Dean's heart is so big that he needs to shield it with brutality, otherwise he would be crying all day.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>A doctor stops in front of me.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Sam Winchester?”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>I jump up to stand hitting the open can of tea and spreading its content on the floor.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Oh, crap, I’m sorry.”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Don't worry,” she smiles and winks an eye, as if I was ten years old. She becomes serious and goes on. “It's about your brother.”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“What?” Cass demands standing up next to me.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>She looks at him uncomfortable —Cass seems to be drilling her with his angel heart. The doctor looks back at me, pulling herself together. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><strong>“Your brother</strong>—<strong>” she looks through the papers she holds and gives us a peaceful, correct smile. “We are moving him to a regular room.” </strong></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Oh, God, yes. Yes, yes, yes.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>I exhale and smile nervously, nodding with my head. My eyes suddenly tearful. Letting all that weight go:</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Thank you. Thanks, doctor. Thank you.” </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I am at the Himalayas. I look at the endless horizon, covered by bright clouds that get lost in the distance. I was following some information that said that I would find any clue to God’s whereabouts there, but still nothing. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I sigh in the sharp wind and wonder whether God is not here already, melted with his work, mixed with the dirt and disintegrated in the air. This landscape seems to be wanting to tell me this, as if it was part of the creator himself. I think about Dean's green eyes suddenly, I don’t know why. There is something in this beauty that reminded me of them. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>It has been more than a month since the last time I saw him. I received a phone call from Sam, saying that he had woken up, ten days ago. But I couldn’t go and visit them and, honestly, I don’t know where I put my phone. Communicating through that thing is bloody uncomfortable. Nothing would I like more than going to Robert's house, where the brothers are, and stay for a while with them. With Dean. In Hell we were together for so long, and in such an intense way that it is still weird not having him next to me. Anyways, Dean is a “personal space</em>
  <em>” kind of person (he told me several times) and now he already has his brother's company. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I focus, I can't hear any stir in Heaven, there is no urge on Earth. I have a moment to escape from my duty. I can’t help smiling slightly when I think about the reunion with my friends. “Friends”, not until I met the Winchesters had I used that term.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I close my eyes and materialize in Robert's living room. In this side of the world the sun is setting and some red rays dye the place, giving a mysterious touch to all the objects that fill every corner. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The memory of the day when we came back from Hell comes to me when I look at the wall on which we drew the entrance: the smell of my burnt wings, the exhaustion, the blood running down my eardrums, and Dean's. His devastated body. I hooked as well as I could the only thread of life remaining in his cells with the little energy I had left. I couldn’t do much. I remember the frustration and anguish that invaded me, the fear. I wasn’t able to heal my wounds myself until days later. I spent that time in the Amazons, shaking with cold between consciousness losses and currents of unbearable pain, surrounded by mosquitoes and the feverish sounds of the jungle. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I hear voices in the kitchen and go there. Sam is preparing something in a frying pan and Robert, on his wheelchair, is jabbering with a small bottle of beer. Both look at me serious the moment I enter the room.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“About time you brought your feathery ass here,” greets Robert with his usual grumpy humor.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sam makes a gesture with his head and turns his attention back to the food:</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Wait, I’ll finish this.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“It's OK, I’ll watch it,” the man grumbles. “Go with this knucklehead.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sam washes his hands and takes off his apron, gets in front of me and I follow him upstairs towards the second floor, where I feel Dean is staying.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><em>“Cass, he is not good,” he stops before opening the room's closed door. “Since he woke up he has been having memory leaks. And</em>—<em>” he wets his lips with his tonge, anxious, changing his look from the door to me, “the seizures.”</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>I tilt my head. What is he trying to say? That Dean didn’t recover? That he has aftereffects? Why didn’t I think about it? Damn it, I thought he would be alright when he woke up. It is what happens to me, I heal, I wake up. Done. But Dean is human. Shit. I am a complete idiot.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sam eyes are tearful, he passes his fingers over them to stop tears from running down.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I don’t think he will be able to hunt anymore,” he trespasses me with his gaze. “Tell me you can do something about it.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>We enter the room slowly, Sam moves forward and bends down over the bed. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Dean?” He whispers.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Dean is lying down, leaning on some cushions, his right arm (the one I held him by to get out) in a sling, he still has some scars from cuts and bruises, and part of his skin in both arms is bandaged.  His eyes are closed and he is breathing calmly. I realize I am tense, holding my breath.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Sam.” he murmurs waking up. It seems he is going to have a good awakening, I sigh relieved.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Cass is here.”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Cass gets closer slowly until he is next to me. He is very serious, focused on Dean —I think he is more serious than usual.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>My brother places his gaze on him, blinking as if the weak light that comes through the curtains bothered him. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Who?” He says with a confused tone.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Dean, it's Cass,” I frown, “Castiel has come to visit you.” </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“What the fuck are you saying?” He asks starting to get upset. “Who is this guy?”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>I open my mouth like a moron, I can't help it:</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Castiel. You can't have forgotten him, he's who—” I bite my tongue on time —taboo topic: Hell. We can't even name it. I look at Cass, whose expression hasn’t changed a bit, but he is clenching his fists. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Dean.” he says reaching out decided to touch his forehead. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>My brother makes a sudden move to get away and becomes defensive-aggressive:</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Don't touch me!”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Cass stops his hand and takes it back crossing his arms on his chest. He clenches his jaws.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“What the fuck do you want?” Dean shouts. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Nothing, it's alright,” I calm him lifting my palms. “We're going, we’ll leave.”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>When Dean throws even me out of his room, there's nothing left to do. Just wait for him to calm down or fall asleep again. We get out and I close the door behind me. Cass fixes his look on the floor boards.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“I didn’t know—” he says with a rough voice. “I’m sorry.”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Don't worry. Can you do anything?”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“I don’t know. Maybe. But I need to get close to him.” </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“We will have to wait until he falls asleep. Do you have time? Stay for dinner.”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Bobby and I eat in a shady atmosphere, exchanging sentences to fill my brother's empty seat. Cass walks around the next room looking through the shelves, he sometimes disappears and then appears again. I think it is his way of killing this distressing time.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Any news on the Apocalypse?” Bobby asks.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“There don’t seem to be any demoniac omens. I saw a couple of news that may be cases for us,” my laptop is to my right so I type. “This looks like a vengeful ghost.”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Bobby looks at the screen and shrugs.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“You don’t expect me to go, do you?” he says pointing to the wheelchair with his head.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>I sigh. I close my eyes and the image of Cass and Dean coming back from Hell strikes me. I had just waken up, groggy, lying down in Bobby's bunker. Through the door, some anxious voices came from the top floor. Not controlling my body yet, I went upstairs and entered the room where they had appeared. I remember the chaos in that room, Bobby fishing in a drawer like crazy, and Cass kneeling down over my brother, his hands on his chest injecting a purple light. And Dean, well. I thought he was dead. It couldn’t be other way, not in the state he was. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Will it be possible that I just lost him? My big brother? The one who was always there? When his time was over for the contract, when the hellhound tore his body in front of me, when I refused to cremate him, that time I broke down. I became an addict to demon's blood, I became cold, insensitive, because I was alone. But now, what will I do? I have my brother with me, but he doesn’t know me sometimes. He suffers from constant attacks that make him scream and convulse, he starts talking about incoherent things. Will I have to spend my days taking care of him? Will I abandon him in any hospital or leave him in someone else’s charge? I don’t know which way I will take, I am scared to be heartless. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Sam,” Bobby's warning voice brings me back from my thoughts. He signs with his eyes for me to look back.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>I turn around and see Dean leaning on the kitchen's lintel, looking at us with such a casual smile. He is wearing his pajamas and he put his robe on, his wounded arm covered under it as in a cloak. Cass is some feet behind him in the other room, still, observing. Dean comes limping slightly because his knee hasn’t healed yet. He walks following the kitchen table, looking at the cooking pots and the food on the table. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Where’s my bacon and eggs?” He asks with a sarcastic grin. He follows his path around the table, slowly.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“We don't have any bacon,” I say confused, my eyes on him all the time. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Bobby nails his look on him.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Dean.”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Yes, Bobby?” He responds making his smile even bigger, which gives him a much creepier look.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>I am wary, but my brother is fast. He takes out of his robe a metallic shining and throws it directly to my neck. Only my very well trained reflexes save me by an inch from a mortal cut and I fall down on a chair I was sitting on. Dean jumps on me without losing any time, immobilizing my arms with his legs and lifts the demon-killing knife, ready to stab me. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Cass lifts Dean up, getting me rid of him, holding him strongly from his back. Dean fights and tears run down his face for the pain he feels in his broken arm, but keeps pulling violently:</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“You sons of bitches! Give me my brother back! Fucking bastards, I will kill you all! When you least expect it, I will—!”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>I am looking astonished at the scene, with a sensation of unreality and fear running through my body. Cass puts his hand on Dean's forehead and he falls inert in his hug. The angel sits him leaning on the wall and helps me to stand up. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Are you OK?”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“This never happened before,” I mumble, my eyes wide open, “he had never attacked us.”</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Bobby exhales all the air he has been holding and shakes his head with a serious expression:</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“We must find a solution, otherwise we will have to start making decisions.”</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I wake up with my healthy arm chained up to the bed's headboard. I pull strongly, but neither the handcuffs nor the bars give in, logically.</p>
<p>Damn it, Dean. You fucked up. You lost your fucking element of surprise. What were all those holding and observing days worth for? It is true that I have some leaks in my memory, sometimes I am looking at something, or talking to some of them and my head just disconnects. But I know who they are, I know where I am. That son of a bitch is not my brother, and the other demon is not Bobby. And the new guy, who's that? With that insurance-seller-failure look. It doesn't seem good that they have introduced a new player.</p>
<p>They want me to lose my mind. But I won't lose sight of my reality, I won't weaken. As much as they look like them, as much as they try to get in my head, I know this is all fake. This fucking house is not Bobby's, the wrecker's yard I see through the window is not real, the familiar smell that floats in the air is just a damned setup. They know every last detail of my mind, they can do whatever. How can I tell reality from what they built up from my memories? The only sure thing is that I’m in Hell.</p>
<p>No, I won’t give in. I will resist and hold until I can attack them again. The can’t play with my brother’s image. Bastard, I will pull your guts out when you least expect it, even if I have to wait a year.</p>
<p>My temples sting. Argh, shit, not again, fu</p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Alastair starts beating me with a short whip made from chains. Zanjir it's called. I became an expert in whips, riding crops, and others candy</span>
</p>
<p>son of a bitch, I knew I would be punished for this. I bite my lip to avoid screaming </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">the skin in my back opens to the hit, I can't even breathe, I feel the blood run down my legs. Then, Alastair takes an acid bottle and empties it on my wounds</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Dean's voice tears the silent night that surrounds Bobby’s building. Cass and I go upstairs at top speed towards his room and we find him having a seizure on the palliasse, screaming and kicking. I immobilize him as good as I can with my arms and legs, trying not to hurt his arm more or hitting his wounded knee. I look for Cass to tell him to bring the pills the doctor gave us, but he just bends over the bed and puts a hand on Dean's forehead and the other on his chest pressing so he does not move. Right, now that we have Cass it's better than any pill.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Dean gives in under the touch, his voice faints and the seizure stops, his breath calms down and his agony expression relaxes. Cass and I can't recover from the fright looking at each other overwhelmed. Shit, I’m desperate. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“Does this happen frequently?” He asks with a rough tone in his unchangeable voice. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>I nod covering my mouth with my fingers. Cass takes one of his hands to the handcuffs that imprison Dean's wrist and he makes a gesture for me to give him the key. I do it, he frees my brother's arm and puts is carefully on the bed. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>“I am going to need some things,” he says decided but not taking his eyes off of him.</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. MY FRIEND OF MISERY</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>I am in an arid, dry place. Not even a single breeze moves, the ground is cracked, and heat creates illusions at ground level in the horizon. There is not sun itself, but the atmosphere burns like in summer. Where should I go? All the directions seem the same. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hear the cawing of a vulture to my right, I can’t see it, but I follow the sound. I walk for several minutes, I loosen my tie knot. I don’t usually get bothered by the weather, but this rule doesn’t apply here. I am not an angel here, I am another element in Dean’s mind. I feel like I am more vulnerable than in the real world. I got in his head from my own mind, so the impact I could suffer if anything went wrong would go directly to my consciousness. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>All of a sudden the ground starts vibrating more and more, until it fills the air with a metallic, guttural sound that makes me cover my ears. There is wind, and the dust swirls, the waves in the air hit me to the core of my cells. A bottomless blackness begins to cover the sky and everything around me, swallowing everything but me. I feel the pressure in my temples, my brain is pulsating, I feel it about to explode and, when I feel I can't take it anymore, it stops. The sound, the vibrations, the pain. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I open my eyes, I am able to see in this sticky blackness. There is no sky itself, just a heavy jet black. I walk and the sound of my steps is swallowed once it goes out, like a stone thrown in marshy waters. There is such a sensation of overcharge in the atmosphere that I seem to be breathing mud. Without advise, a red light ball blasts to my left and swallows everything. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I wake up on the bed I was lying on, I see the ceiling of the room reserved for Dean. Damn it, what went wrong? I turn my head but I can’t find his unconscious body, I look to the other side and Sam isn't sitting there either. I am alone in the room. I stand up and feel that the floor is covered by a layer of water about an inch tall. Some drops fall from the ceiling from time to time, although I can’t see any rain in this starry night from the window. I have the feeling that the house is darker than the real one, it has a gloomier touch. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>From the room’s bathroom comes the sound of water running. I open the door and find the sink faucet running, muddy water is falling on the floor. I stop it and look at an old radio on the edge of the bath tub. It makes an interference sound with a faraway, electric voice within that I don't manage to understand.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I see that inside the big, dry, dirty tub there is a porcelain doll with very light skin, platinum hair and washed blue eyes. She is not wearing anything, her extremities and head are separated from her body, thrown away carelessly. Then I understand the little radio's words:</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Krr-krr Ka-Krr-Kaysa krr-krr-¡Kaysa! krr”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I switch off the receiver and leave it carefully where it was. I don’t know why but I crouch and try to put the doll back together. I feel invaded by such a guilty and angry feeling that when I clench my jaw I think I could break them. But the porcelain becomes sand between my fingers. I stay there for a couple of seconds, breathing and leaning on the edge of the bath tub, calming down my emotions. Cool head, Castiel.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I go downstairs, try to open the door but it is locked. I suspect any window in the house can't open either. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hear a roar in the kitchen, measuring each and every step I take, walking on the thin layer of water that also covers this floor. With her back to me and putting dishes on a plate rack, there is a woman with long, wavy, blond hair. I observe her for a couple of minutes, she does not give out any energy, I don’t know whether she can attack me or not. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Do you want a sandwich?” She says without even looking at me. “I didn’t have time to buy anything else.” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>She turns around and I see the blood on her nightdress, on her stomach, however, her expression is relaxed. She looks at me with affection. I don’t know where Dean is, I need to find the core of this, the subconscious piece that represents him. I sit at the table waiting to get more information.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“How was school?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Uh, fine,” I venture. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“That is not what Mr. Jenkins said.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I tap with my fingers on the tablecloth, anxious. Mary Winchester puts a hand on the table and the other on her hip, her expression becomes reproaching.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Little man—”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m sorry, okay?” I respond on the defensive. My attitude surprises me, I feel she doesn’t understand me. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The sound of a crying baby comes from a speaker on the shelf. My mother sighs and points to me with a finger, firmly, but with a loving tone:</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“You and I aren’t done yet. When I come back down I want an explanation.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>She goes and I sigh relieved. I eat the sandwich quickly and I run to the living room to watch Tom and Jerry’s show. When I press the ON button, the television sparks deafeningly and all the lights go off.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Mom?” I ask scared. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I look at the corridor and the staircase. And I see my mother slithering on them, going down every stair with her hands like claws and her legs are inert. She is leaving a blood trail behind her. Her skin bubbles, burnt, and dying sounds come from her throat producing a river of reddish saliva.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I fall backwards terrorized, and from the floor some hands come out and drag me down, burying me in cement and dirt. I scream but the only thing I do is swallowing dirt, my lungs fill with it, I am going to die</em>
</p><p>
  <span class="u"> <em>Alastair puts away the funnel that he was holding in my mouth, the one he was putting dirt and sulfur in. I cough crazily, spitting gravel and flesh at the same time. The pain is piercing, I look at the bloody plasma I left on the floor beside my feet. The demon takes me by my jaw and smiles. </em> </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <em>“Are you still hungry?” </em> </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <em>He undoes his torn pants and just in case I had some dignity left, he masturbates in my bloody mouth, I just think I am going to explode.</em> </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u"> <em>Boom boom I will explode I am going to explode</em> </span>
</p><p>
  <em>A stab trespasses my ribs and I take some air. I stagger backwards holding my dripping wound on my side, I can breathe. My God, I can breathe. I am standing, from my lips falls a blood thread. I look at the wound that stings under my hand, from a sharp blade. I look up in front of me and from the black air, Dean's shape comes in his hunting clothes, with John’s leather jacket and Sam’s amulet on his neck. His arm and knee are healed. He is holding the demon-killing knife, ready to launch another attack.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Dean.” I mutter while I start losing consciousness. I collapse onto the floor.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Who the fuck is this bastard? I search in his clothes trying to get any information, but I don't. No documents or any other object that can give me any clue. He isn't armed either. I walk around him looking at him lying on the floor. Should I kill him? Better safe than sorry, for sure.</p><p> </p><p>“Who would it be, Dean? It is clear he’s a demon,” Sam says at my back.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up. You're one, too,” I hiss.</p><p> </p><p>My brother laughs out loud and looks at me with a superior expression.</p><p> </p><p>“Look who’s talking,” he crouches down next to the man, he takes him by the hair, “I think I’ll eat him up. Do you want to look meanwhile?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re disgusting.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re using very precise vocabulary lately, congratulations, brother.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>The insensitive Sam leans over and bites the insurance seller’s neck, but immediately bites the blood and wrinkles.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, it tastes so bad.” </p><p> </p><p>“So now you’re a gourmet?”</p><p> </p><p>I take the guy by his collar and drag him on the floor, I take him upstairs making sure he hits every stair we climb and launch him on the bed that fake-Bobby gave me. I handcuff him to a headboard bar and go down to the kitchen to prepare some bacon. Fuck, I would kill for a piece of crunchy bacon. But there’s no bacon, the fucking fridge is empty. I look through the windows, it is still night time, as always in here. I see a falling star, I think someone once told me they were lost hopes.</p><p> </p><p>What am I going to do? I don’t know what they want to achieve with all this: they keep me inside this sealed house most of my free time, with impostors who look like Sam and Bobby who try to make me think I came back to Earth. But I know well that my eternity is in the hole, I can’t afford having any hope. It would give away another weak point, and they already have too many.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I wake up with both my hands chained to the headboard bar. Dean is looking at me from above with a boot on the palliasse and his arms leaning on that thigh, like thinking. I cough blood due to the —still open— wound in my side. He smiles sarcastically, a smile that almost nobody can say they have seen twice.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Hey, sleeping beauty. What do you think of my hospitality? You are starting to break my balls, tell me what are you and the Teletubbies playing.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Dean, you must stop fighting.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>He puts a finger in the wound of my ribs and I clench my jaws to avoid screaming. He takes the finger out and cleans it on my cheek. His smile widens.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“This is the thing. I ask and you answer. Only the truth, And if I don’t believe it, or I don’t like the answer, well, fireworks.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Shit, I don't know what to do. I have the horrific Dean about to cut my throat and I can’t either use my Grace or convince him through logic. Why can't you stop, Dean? There aren’t enemies anymore. Stop, please.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Who are you, and what do you want?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“I am an angel.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Bullshit!” He puts the finger back in, deeper this time, and doesn’t take it out.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I brought you out of Hell,” I hiss under my breath.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Shit, you have more and more imagination,” he twists his finger in my wound.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“Dean</em>—<em> You have my mark on your left shoulder.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>He takes out the finger, looks at me frowning, his face says I am the dumbest guy in the world. I hold his gaze as categorically as I can. Because it is there, the mark, isn't it? Tell me his subconscious created it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He takes his brown leather jacket and his shirt off, lifts up his sleeve, his eyes still on me. He takes a look at his shoulder.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>What the fuck is this? It looks like a burn. I don’t remember anyone doing this to me during the torture sessions. Besides, if it was the case, my skin would have healed.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The Dean freezes, like a photograph. Sam enters the room.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“What do you want?” He asks me with a suspicious, wicked look. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Damn it, what does Sam represent? Is he a friend or an enemy? At least he seems much more aware of the situation than his older brother. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“I am Castiel, Sam. We are not in Hell. I came to take you, him, out.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Sam's smile is frivolous, his sweet eyes exude venom. I think I made a huge mistake. He takes the demon-killing knife from Dean's waist, sits down on the bed, his eyes on me all the time. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“No one is leaving this place, Cass, angel of the Lord. My brother needs to be constantly fighting,” he stabs the pillow an inch away from my face. “I don’t need to do this, you will merge with his madness sooner rather than later. I will have fun watching the movie.” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>He puts a hand on my eyes and </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Splash! Somebody takes my head out of the toilet. I spit and cough listening to the laughters of the three kids at my back. They are older than me.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“This is for you to learn to stay quiet, you shithead,” the bossy one says.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I turn around like a streak of lightning, beating him with anger. This is the first time I get in a fight.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Take that back!” I scream, “take back what you said about my father!”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>The kid can’t get rid of me and takes all the blows, which are no more than slaps, but he ends up with a bloody nose and saying he's sorry. The other two ran away from the restrooms long ago. The kid goes away moaning and I follow him with my eyes.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You dickhead, why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” I sentence while I hit, this time with my fist, the temple of this bully of the moment (apart from me).</p><p> </p><p>I am around thirteen, and my brother Sam begs me to stop from my back. Why? I am defending him. Sammy has a crack in his eyebrow, the least I can do is give the decoration back to this asshole. Since I don't listen to him, Sam goes away very angry. I follow him and take his arm so that he has to look at me:</p><p> </p><p>“What happens? He deserved it.”</p><p> </p><p>“You always do the same!” He screams at me with his angry eyes about to cry, showing his teeth, “I told you not to do anything, you're a beast! Now I won't be just the freak, but also the coward tattletale! I hate you! I hate you, Dean!</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Where is your brother?” John asks furious and terrorized, quickly walking back and forth in the motel. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m sorry,” I murmur, very frightened. I have never seen John this mad. Sammy has escaped and he is nowhere. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“What happened? You argued? Shouted at him?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“No, I just went for some hamburgers and when I came back he was gone.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Damn it, Dean! I only ask you to take care of him, just that! How could you fail me?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I clench my fists looking at the floor. I am a shit, I already know. My father may hit me, he never did but perhaps today is the day.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Let's get out and look for him, and you’d better find him.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I nod and we go around the city in my father's Impala. This car has never felt so oppressive. My father murmurs:</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Damn it, Sammy.” I look reproachingly at my older son from time to time.</p><p> </p><p>I didn’t expect this, I really didn’t. The last thing I would have thought is that, after a tiring work day about to be torn to pieces by a fucking werewolf, I was going to find out one of my kids disappeared. Where the hell did he go? Maybe he has been caught by any monster? By a heartless person? Fuck, fuck, Sammy. Fucking world.</p><p>Dean is sitting silent on the copilot seat, with his height he doesn’t fit the back completely. His look is fixed on the road. I am holding the steering wheel as strongly as I can because I feel I could discharge all my anger against him otherwise. And it would be the beginning of the end.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We spend the night combing the streets shouting my brother’s name. Nothing. My dad doesn’t talk to me if it isn’t to give me orders. I have never felt worse. I have to make a huge effort to hold back my tears —I won't do it, the last thing I need is John to see me crying. Then he would be ashamed of me.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>I order my son to stay in the motel, it is a waste of time and I can’t have him running up and down half asleep. I’m sorry, Mary, I lost your little boy. I go back to the car to keep looking.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>My father leaves me in the room, I am a complete useless one. At least now I can cry as much as I want. Shit, Sammy, why did you do this to me? Fuck, what if anything happened to him? What if he appears dead, like all those people in dad's cases? The world is a damned battlefield. Sam was in my charge and I ruined it. My father will hate me. I’m sure he will abandon me right here. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dad, you’re coming back, aren’t you? Don't punish me with your absence.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I am tired of looking for you. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>In road diners.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>In mountains with silvery tops.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>In the things you left me.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>In streets full of stressed people.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>In my brother’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>In the broken hearts.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>F<em>a</em>t<em>h</em>e<em>r</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Don’t lose it,” I tell Castiel in Bobby's hospital room when I give him the amulet Sam gifted me. He borrowed it to find God.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?” I confess to Dean sitting on a bench looking at the kids after one of the seals has been broken. “I’m not— A hammer, as you call me. I have questions, doubts. I don’t know anymore what is right or wrong. </p><p><em>doubts</em>  </p><p>    doubts </p><p>
  <em>         doubts   </em>
</p><p>    Me too</p><p><em>What is </em>rightWhat is <em>wrong</em></p><p>I have doubts because I am not a hammer</p><p>
  <em>Stop hitting, Dean, don’t fight</em>
</p><p>There is nothing to beat down</p><p>
  <em>There is only you</em>
</p><p>In my memories, with Castiel, over my own consciousness.</p><p>
  <em>In the fake house, with Dean, under the ceiling’s leaks.</em>
</p><p>In the impenetrable darkness.</p><p>
  <em>In the barren dessert.</em>
</p><p>On the mattress, together, under Sam's watch.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Dean wakes up and Cass does the same at once. I ask how it went, frightened. I nods to say it was good, his look gives away an infinite tiredness, and my brother still seems disoriented. </strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>“Water?” I ask, I don’t know which one of them. Cass nods again and I go for it. </strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>I tell Bobby that everything seems to have gone well and I bring the glass upstairs, still with my heart in my mouth. I give Cass the glass of water, he sits up leaning difficultly on his elbow, he takes some eager sips.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Water runs down our throats as if it was the best medicine in the world. Fuck, I was dehydrated. We give the glass back to my brother, out hands still shaky due to the tiredness we feel.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>I take the glass and leave it on the nightstand. I lean over Dean and talk to him: </strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>“Do you know who I am?”</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>We answer Sam with an almost inaudible “yes”. We see a spark of huge relief sneaking out in his eyes. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><strong>My brother is back. God, thanks, thanks. I ask if I can do anything else, but Cass moves his hand to say they just need time. I nod and press on Dean’s shoulder as a farewell.  </strong> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Sam presses on our shoulder with love and says goodbye with a tense smile. He closes the door behind him. I turn my head to look at Dean an I see my own eyes. Blue, intense. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>I hold my breath looking at my own face. I think it is beautiful. I am too tired to get mad at this. Besides, I don’t feel there’s any problem. The Dean I have in front of me gets his face close to mine softly, he gives me a slight kiss on my nose.  I feel the tickling on my nose and lips at the same time, as If I was also touching his with mine. Cass.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>«I can’t believe I had forgotten you, you brought me out of Hell,» Dean thinks inside my head. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>«Dean, my multicolor blast,» Cass feels.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>«Wow,» Dean tingles, «you feel that for me?»</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Dean is overwhelmed. He had never felt so much love before. I feel the tears crowding his eyes.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>I am overwhelmed, I don’t know what is happening to me. The feeling that Cass gives off is too immense. I don’t know what to do with this much affection. And all that is for me? It is so crushing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I look at Dean with all the compassion in the world. In the weak light of the table lamp, my angel eyes can tell how his little freckles disappear under the blush that precedes the tears. I feel how they run down his skin, I feel the fear of guilt breaking up in them. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Suddenly I can’t stop crying. My God. Feeling Cass’s heart I see myself through his eyes. Beating through him I look at myself with tenderness. How can it be</p><p>
  <em>that this is the first time I feel I love myself? </em>
</p><p>How can it be</p><p>
  <em> that other being can love me so much?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>I break down crying without control. I cry as I never did, not even as a kid. I let out all the anguish, the fury, frustration, the shame, the guilt, the terror. That is who I am. Not the Dean that tells jokes, the stubborn one, the vain one. Not the one that picks up chicks, the one that tells Sammy off, the one thart admires John. Not the infallible hunter. All those Deans have nothing to do with me. I am pure feelings, a light prism explosion. I need warmth, and I am too wounded. Please, Cass, hold me. Hold me, for God’s sake.</p><p> </p><p>“I have you, Dean, I’m holding you,” he whispers in my ear.</p><p> </p><p>I don’t know how long I have been shaking for the sobs, curled up in his neck. I am so devastated, I don’t want to keep hunting. Tell me I don’t have to get out there, that I don’t have to kill anymore, that I don't need to carry anybody else's lives beyond mine.</p><p>All that weight has broken my bones and torn my muscles apart. It wasn’t Hell, that was just a cruel reflection of myself. Alastair hasn’t treated me much worse than I had long before. And I collapsed under my charge in his hands, thinking that salvation would come by crushing others. Now I give in to the same darkness but I understand that healing is about learning to love myself. It is about leaning on a loving shoulder. In the confidence of knowing I will have help when I can’t keep going by myself. Cass, it is you, right? You didn’t come to save me from Hell, you came to save me from myself.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I kiss Dean's forehead softly. I feel an infinite tenderness, so reverent as the one I felt looking at the Himalayan horizon. Because Dean and the Earth are made from the same thing. I feel I found God in a way that I, as an individual, needed to find him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dean stops crying and stays breathing against my collarbone, I feel his peace. This instant will never die. Now both of us are immortals. Dean, I love you.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I kiss his lips softly, feeling his skin tingles. He looks at  me with his green eyes, open to the universe, telling me with them to melt with his soul. I get comfortable and uncover his chest tenderly so I don’t pull from his broken arm. I leave the piece of clothing aside and, calmly, I cover his wounded arm with kisses, following the scars on his skin, and also the ones that can’t be seen. With each kiss, I plant a fire pit that takes the pain away and builds back his fibers, taking away all the aftereffects from the violence. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dean exhales surprised to see that he can move his arm again. I take my hand from his chest to his hip, and then to his knee. Through the cotton of his pants, I pump a light that heals the injury. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dean closes his eyes.  I lean over his neck and touch it with my lips, I kiss him. His breath becomes deeper, and mine too. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I take off my trench coat, my tie, and my shirt still kissing his chin, his collarbone. Dean presses me against him and our torsos get glued, I feel the touch of our skins and the beat of his heart, the sweat slipping between us. He starts kissing me on my mouth, he first bites my lips softly, then he opens them with his own and after that he puts his tongue in. There is a moan, I think it is mine. I get more comfortable on him and start pressing my hip against his. Dean takes a breath tilting his head backwards and with his hand he pushes my forehead against his neck. My sweat runs down his jaw, I hear how he starts breathing through his mouth. I moan quietly. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Dean opens his legs, with one of them he imprisons my pelvis and I nail myself to the clothing in that little space he gave me. I feel how his hardness almost stabs me on my lower abdomen and I hold his lifted leg to adapt his posture with mine.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I rub his hip swinging, like the ocean waves that lick the shore on the beach. Dean holds tightly the bedsheets with both his hands, his breath goes along a slight moan from his insides. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Cass” he purrs.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The universe is burning. The core of the planer beats through Dean —he is the Earth and I am the sky. I am the infinite firmament that wraps him without touching him. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Touch me now.</p><p>Materialize yourself and visit my matter, run along the dust and mud, the rivers, sink in my waters. Breathe my air full of storms, caress my grass strands. Rub more, until my stones dissolve in your open space and I get multiplied in a million of stars.</p><p>Cass, break me so I can build myself again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I pull Dean’s pants down, I move to be able to take it out completely along his underwear. I soak up his celestial image: his uncovered, beating body, the warm chiaroscuro between his lines, curves, corners and angles. Sweat has a metallic shine and I feel that everything that builds cosmos is under my arms right now. His chest is the core of every questions, and his eyes are my true reflection, and his legs are the door.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>The mysticism dissolves in instinctive desires. I can almost hear how my head rebuilds with emotions I am used to. I help Cass undo his pants. Together, we throw his clothes aside and I get comfortable leaning my back against the headboard. It squeaks, or maybe it is a thunderclap that just fell in the room. Cass jumps on me and imprisons me between his body and the cold bars. He is kneeling and puts my hips on his thighs, as if I was riding on him. I wasn’t expecting this, this is craziness. Son of a bitch, you wanna fuck me?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The heat is immense, I am burning in this material body. I feel the biggest urge in this world, I need to get in his flesh. Rub me against his burning insides. I am an animal.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Goddamn it, why am I so horny just thinking about it? Shit, fuck, what should I do. Don't we need vaseline or something like that?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I take my fingers to Dean's entrance. I don’t know how I know it, but I feel that’s my goal. I touch, caressing with my fingers just out of curiosity. Dean stabs me with his nails, still on my thighs, my head against his ribs. </em>
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</p><p>Shit, I will deny this, forever. But I am so fucking exited. So nice, damn, how soft his fingers are, his touch burns me. God, how can I feel so hot?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Out of pure instinct, I take my fingers to my mouth and make them wet with saliva. Out of pure instinct I make it dense and transform it into an oily plasma. I lubricate Dean's muscles with it.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Fucking angel, how useful. Shit, I am even hornier. Son of a bitch, he puts in the end of a finger. I bite my lips, I won't moan, no way.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The movement in Dean's hips become more and more violent, I put another finger in easily, making soft moves to make it more flexible and increase his excitement.</em>
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</p><p>I open my mouth, otherwise I can’t breathe. I can’t help some labored sounds going out. Fuck, fuck, Cass. Where the hell did you learn this? He put another one in, right? Shit, I don’t know, it burns so much. Open me, do it, more.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I take the fingers away, I get myself wet too. Then I drive myself with a hand to his opening and I guide him to me, taking him by his hip. My head is a swirls of doubts that fight to be satisfied first, my body is an arcane shake that has taken over control on my mind. But my heart is awake and I let him be the one who sinks in.</em>
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</p><p>Cass doesn’t press, he just waits and I feel his end palpitating between my buttocks. Fuck, I am walking on a knife’s blade. What side should I fall to? To him?</p><p> </p><p>“Dean” he exhales melting on my chest.</p><p> </p><p>My heart skips a beat and without thinking about it I fit his verticality in. I slip down extremely careful, feeling each bit, moaning with every demolition of my own self. The sarcastic Dean, the proud Dean, the straight Dean. The macho Dean. I let my image go through my mouth in a liberating moan, and suddenly the pleasure gets multiplied by a thousand, riding on Cass, sitting on his knees, letting myself fall towards him in an angle, with my arms extended and holding his shoulders with my hands to make the penetration deeper.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dean Dean Dean God</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I take him by his buttocks and pushing him like an animal I put him face-up on the mattress, not losing the connection between our hips, the center of the universe, at any moment. I charge at him believing I will run out of air and holding his thighs up so I don't lose draft. He hooks his feet behind my back and pulls marking the rhythm and depth of my charges. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Son of a bitch, fuck me fuck me fuck me</p><p>I push with my elbows and back to lift up my hip and feel the friction until the end. I am panting like a bitch. Fuck, shit. He touched something. Son of a bitch, fuck.</p><p> </p><p>“There, there,” I can’t help it, shit I can’t, my voice is shameful, but I get hornier when I listen to it, “faster, fuck, shit, damn it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dean, Dean” he is more classic.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>My brother's scream can be heard even from Bobby’s wrecker's backyard. When the screams became too obvious and there wasn’t any doubt left, Bobby and I got out of the house quickly, not saying a word, but giving each other a difficultly describable look.  Until that very moment, we managed to avoid the sound leaning on the Impala, and Bobby by my side, both with a bottle of beer in our hands and in the most ominous silence in the world.</strong>
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</p><p><strong>“Idjit!”</strong> <strong> Bobby can’t help himself and says that lifting his eyebrows and shaking his head.</strong></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>Beer comes out through my nose due to a nervous laughter and we look at each other again. </strong>
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  <strong>We start laughing like long before.</strong>
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